^■ 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


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1.0 


1.1 


S  us  IIM 


1.8 


1-25  1  1.4      1.6 

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Va 


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Photographic 

Sdences 
Corporation 


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23  IVEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  MSBO 

(716)  872-4503 


rv 


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ca 


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CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CiHM/ICIVIH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  /  Institut  Canadian  de  microreproductions  historiques 


Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notes/Notes  techniques  et  bibliographiques 


The  Institute  has  attempted  to  obtain  the  best 
original  copy  available  for  filming.  Features  of  this 
copy  which  may  be  bibliographically  unique, 
which  may  alter  any  of  the  images  in  the 
reproduction,  or  which  may  significantly  change 
the  usual  method  of  filming,  are  checked  below. 


□ 


D 


D 
D 


D 


D 


D 


Coloured  covers/ 
Couverture  de  couleur 


I      I    Covers  damaged/ 


Couverture  endommagee 


Covers  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Couverture  rest{  jr6e  et/ou  pelliculde 


I      I    Cover  title  missing/ 


Le  titre  de  couverture  manque 


Coloured  maps/ 

Cartes  gdographiques  en  couleur 


Coloured  ink  (i.e.  other  than  blue  or  black)/ 
Encre  de  couleur  (i.e.  autre  que  bleue  ou  noire) 


I      I    Coloured  plates  and/or  illustrations/ 


Planches  et/ou  illustrations  en  couleur 

Bound  with  other  material/ 
Reli6  avec  d'autres  documents 

Tight  binding  may  cause  shadows  or  rjlstortion 
along  interior  margin/ 

La  reliure  serree  peut  causer  de  I'ombre  ou  de  la 
distortion  le  long  de  la  marge  intdrieure 

Blank  leaves  added  during  restoration  may 
appear  within  the  text.  Whenever  possible,  these 
have  been  omitted  from  filming/ 
II  se  peut  que  certaines  pages  blanches  ajoutdes 
lors  d'une  restauration  apparaissent  dans  le  texte, 
mais,  lorsque  cela  6tait  possible,  ces  pages  n'ont 
pas  6t6  filmies. 

Additional  comments:/ 
Commentaires  suppldmentaires; 


L'Institut  a  microfilntd  le  meilleur  exemplaire 
qu'il  lui  a  6td  possible  de  se  procurer.  Les  details 
de  cet  exemplaire  qui  sont  peut-dtre  uniques  du 
point  de  vue  bibliographique,  qui  peuvent  modifier 
une  image  reproduite,  ou  qui  peuvent  exiger  une 
modification  dans  la  mdthode  normale  de  filmage 
sont  indiqu^s  ci-dessous. 


I      I    Coloured  pages/ 


Pages  de  couleur 

Pages  damaged/ 
Pages  endommagdes 

Pages  restored  and/oi 

Pages  restaur^es  et/ou  pelliculdes 

Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foxei 
Pages  ddcolor^es,  tachetdes  ou  piquees 

Pages  detached/ 
Pages  d^tach^es 

Showthrough/ 
Transparence 


I      I  Pages  damaged/ 

I      I  Pages  restored  and/or  laminated/ 

rrx  Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foxed/ 

I      I  Pages  detached/ 

r~/f  Showthrough/ 


□    Quality  of  print  varies/ 
Qualite  in^gale  de  I'impression 

□    Includes  supplementary  material/ 
Comprend  du  materiel  supplementaire 


□ 


Only  edition  available/ 
Seule  Edition  disponible 


rrX'  Pages  wholly  or  partially  obscured  by  errata 
UlJ    slips,  tissues,  etc.,  have  been  refilmed  to 
ensure  the  best  possible  image/ 
Les  pages  totalement  ou  partiellement 
obscurcies  par  un  feuillet  d'errata,  une  pelure, 
etc.,  ont  6X6  filmdes  d  nouveau  de  fa9on  6 
obtenir  la  meilleure  image  possible. 


This  item  is  filmed  at  the  reduction  ratio  checked  below/ 

Ce  document  est  'ilmd  au  taux  de  reduction  indiqu6  ci-dessous. 

10X  14X  18X  22X 


26X 


30X 


12X 


16X 


20X 


] 


24X 


28X 


32X 


The  copy  filmed  here  has  been  reproduced  thanks 
to  the  generosity  of: 

Izaalt  Walton  Killam  Memorial  Library 
Dalhousie  University 


L'exemplaire  film6  f ut  reproduit  grdce  d  la 
g6n6ro8it6  de: 

Izaak  Walton  Killam  Memorial  Library 
Dalhousie  University 


The  images  appearing  here  are  the  best  quality 
possible  considering  the  condition  and  legibility 
of  the  original  copy  and  in  keeping  with  the 
filming  contract  specifications. 


Les  images  suivantes  ont  6X6  reproduites  avec  le 
plus  grand  soin,  compte  tenu  de  la  condition  et 
de  la  nettet6  de  l'exemplaire  filmd,  et  en 
conformity  avec  les  conditions  du  contrat  de 
filmage. 


Original  copies  in  printed  paper  covers  are  filmed 
beginning  vi/ith  the  front  cover  and  ending  on 
the  last  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, or  the  back  cover  when  appropriate.  All 
other  original  copies  are  filmed  beginning  on  the 
first  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, and  ending  on  the  last  page  with  a  printed 
or  illustrated  impression. 


Les  exemplaires  originaux  dont  la  couverture  en 
papier  est  imprim^e  sont  filmis  en  commengant 
par  le  premier  plat  et  en  terminant  soit  par  la 
dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration,  soit  par  le  second 
plat,  selon  le  cas.  Tous  les  autres  exemplaires 
originaux  sont  film6s  en  commen^ant  par  la 
premidre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration  et  en  terminant  par 
la  dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 


The  last  recorded  frame  on  each  microfiche 
shall  contain  the  symbol  ^^>  (meaning  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  the  symbol  V  (meaning  "END"), 
whichever  applies. 


Un  des  symboles  suivants  apparaitra  sur  la 
dernidre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas:  le  symbole  ^H^signifie  "A  SUIVRE",  le 
symbols  V  signifie  "FIN". 


Maps,  plates,  charts,  etc..  may  be  filmed  at 
different  reduction  ratios.  Those  too  large  to  be 
entirely  included  in  one  exposure  are  filmed 
beginning  in  the  upper  left  hand  corner,  left  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  frames  as 
required.  The  following  diagrams  illustrate  the 
method: 


Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc.,  peuvent  §tre 
film6s  d  des  taux  de  reduction  diff6rents. 
Lorsqua  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  dtre 
reproduit  en  un  seui  clich6,  il  est  film6  d  partir 
de  Tangle  sup^rieur  gauche,  de  gauche  d  droite, 
et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  n6cessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  m^thode. 


1 

2 

3 

1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

2 


^n  ^    \ii..Es 


^^mmmr 


^mmmm 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES 


POEMS 


BY 


JOHN  A.  LanIGAN,  M.D.,  B.A. 


"  Nunquam  minus  solus  quam  cum  solus.' 
"  Juvat  In  sylvis  habilare." 


BUFFALO : 

PETER  PAUL  BOOK  COMPANY 

1894 


v5  O  3  3  —"JhUir,  ZB/B.CS 


Copyright,  1894. 


PBKSS  OF 

FITRn  PACL  BOOK  COMPANY, 

KUFFALO,  N.  Y. 


W*W»LJ»#>  nB«**awj«-a 


TO  THE 

Ut.  met).  Stcpljen  b.  l^mn. 

Bishop  of  Buffalo, 

THESE  POEMS  ARE.  BY  PERMISSION. 

MOST  RESPECTFULLY 

DEDICATED. 


V 


WiAWiii»  irtiiW»il  jWf<j<WIJWiiWM'^'gJ»»seJ^l 


w 


CONTENTS. 


Cosmos. 

To  Poesy,  .... 

An  Old  Man's  Love. 

To  Eilep:n, 

To  May  Margueritk. 

'  •  •  • 

Ode  on  the  Episcopal  Jubilee  of  Pope  Leo  XIII 

A  New  Year's  Poem, 

Musings,    . 

_  '  •  •  .  .  . 

To  THE  Rt.  Rev.  Stephen  V.  Ryan, 

A  Fragment, 

Our  Lady  of  Peace, 

The  Peaix  in  the  Sand, 

Father  Hennepin  at  the  Falls  of  Niagara, 

To  E  LSI  nor  E, 

An  Inc/dent, 

Midnight  Mass  in  St.  Sulpice, 

Resurgam, 

My  Lady, 

Estranged,    . 

The  Tramp  to  His  Hat, 
The  Wave  of  Death, 
Acushla  Gal  Mo  Chree, 
The  Minstrel's  Tale, 
Nora  O'Malley, 
To  the  Mayflower, 
The  Departed,  , 
The  Brook,  . 
Then  and  Now, 


PAGK. 

3 

18 

30 

23 

24 

25 
29 

30 

35 
36 
38 
40 

41 
44 
45 
48 

54 
55 
56 
58 
60 
66 
68 

77 
80 
82 
84 
86 


S*»*PSWWMBIW9Wyik*5JWr''* 


!l^ 


vi 


CONTENTS. 


if 


To  N.  M.  C,  . 

•                       *                       •                       1 

88 

In  Dollie's  Album, 

•                        •                       ■                        • 

.      88 

Farewell,     . 

•                        •                       ■                        • 

89 

To  Doris, 

•                       t                       •                       • 

.      90 

Paradoxical, 

•                       t                       • 

9« 

Franzetta's  Dream, 

•                       •                       t                       • 

.      92 

Lines, 

•                                 •                                «                                 4 

93 

The  Evening  Hour, 

•                                  •                                  fl                                  • 

.     94 

Lines, 

•                                 •                                 •                                 1 

96 

The  Crowning  of  the 

May  Queen,  . 

•      97 

Lines, 

•                      •                      •                      ■ 

99 

Epitaph,  . 

*                      •                      «                      ■ 

.      lOI 

To  Zea, 

•                      •                      •                      ■ 

102 

Night-Fall, 

•                      •                      •                      • 

.     103 

To  Zaidee,     . 

•                      •                     •                      1 

104 

HoRAs  NoN  NuMERO  Nisi  Serenas,     . 

.     105 

To  the  Evening  Star, 

107 

A  Thought, 

.     108 

To  Daphne,  . 

109 

To   AlMEE, 

.      IIO 

In  Memoriam, 

III 

The  Faded  Flower, 

.     112 

Alea  Est  Jacta, 

"3 

An  Acrostic, 

.     114 

To  Emelia,    . 

"5 

To  a  Friend, 

•    "5 

Hunter's  Song, 

116 

Evening  Thoughts, 

.    118 

TRANS    \TIONS. 

1-<INES,  •  •  •  •  • 

Emperor  Adrian's  Address  to  His  Soul, 
Ode  X,  Book  IV,     . 


121 
121 
122 


s.'^ff  r  «Mo:ii>fjifrv  AMWJtUJSUBfS! 


ipO!IWWW-<*»W-W!A&qig^ 


CONTENTS. 


vii 


Zara  the  Bather, 

The  Leaf,     . 

To  A  Young  Gif.l, 

To  My  Bed,  . 

The  Flower, 

Lines, 

Remembrance,     . 

O  Charming  Stream, 

Epigram,  . 

Morning  Hymn, 

The  Lost  Heart, 

To  A  Sleeping  Beauty, 

Sonnet,     . 

Like  a  Flower, 

The  Voyage, 

Dame  Nightingale, 

Elegy, 

The  King  of  Thule, 

The  P'isher  Maiden, 

MlGNON, 

The  Death  Lock, 

Under  the  Greenwood, 

For  Erin  I  Can't  Tell  Her  Name, 

Star  of  My  Path,  . 

Anacreontic, 

Lines, 

»     •     •     •     . 

To  A  Mirror,  . 

L'Envoi,    .     ,     .   ' 


•   »23 

.  126 
126 

.  127 
128 

.  129 
130 

•  132 

•  »34 
134 

•  '35 
'36 

•  '37 
138 

•  139 
140 

142 

»43 

•  145 

'47 
.  148 

ISO 

•  151 
152 

.  152 


1 
t 
1 

1 

■( 

i     J 

? 

I 

M 
■4 


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WOODLAND  RAMBLES 


POEMS 


■■<'^--sm 


i 


i 


ft 


COSMOS. 

A   SCIENTIFIC   POEM. 

/^F  scriptural  lore 

I  have  gathered  a  store, 
And  I'm  not  badly  versed  in  the  science  of  man, 

And  I've  read  all  the  mythos 

On  parchment  or  lithos. 
To  find  out  the  way  that  Creation  began. 

I've  read  Zoroaster, 

The  Koran  and  Shaster, 
The  famed  Zend-Avesta,  the  King,  and  some  more, 

The  myths  of  the  Eddas, 

The  creed  of  the  Vedas, 
And  I've  learned  quite  a  body  of  unwritten  lore. 


For  men  in  all  time 

Ever  seek  the  sublime. 
So  our  book-shelves  are  teeming  with  theories  strange, 

And  science  has  striven 

To  peep  into  Heaven, 
Believing  that  nothing  is  out  of  its  range. 


^f 


4 


1 


!    S 


4  WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 

For  the  great  mind  of  man 

Has  endeavored  to  span 
The  Gulf  of  Time  and  the  Desert  of  Space, 

And  to  limit  creation 

To  the  multiplication 
Of  atoms,  whose  unit  no  mortal  can  trace. 

Through  history's  pages 

The  theme  of  all  ages 
Has  been  Earth's  primeval  and  ultimate  germs ; 

From  those  who  defined 

That  from  Chaos  and  wind 
Were  developed  desire,  love,  and  other  such  terms, 


To  those  who  upheld 

The  great  factor  of  eld 
Must  have  been  some  nonentity,  no  one  knows  what ; 

All,  all  present  views 

As  absurd  and  abstruse 
As  the  darkness  of  Egypt  preserved  in  a  pot. 

There  are  Spencer  and  Kant, 

Doctor  Huxley  and  Grant, 
And  full  fifty  others  from  Humboldt  to  Stone, 

With  old  Anaxagoras 

Whose  theories  stagger  us, 
All  striving  to  fathom  the  great  unknown. 


'1 


t99»iatima*ammm!9)>tm»S!m:  \ 


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WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 

They  fashion  their  schemes, 

And  fantastical  dreams, 
All  pregnant  with  codes  of  dynamical  laws; 

And  every  new  system 

Is  brim  full  of  wisdom, 
'Till  time  and  futurity  point  out  its  flaws. 


Thus,  if  one  goes  back 

O'er  philosophy's  track 
To  that  time  when  the  nations  of  Earth  were  but  few. 

And  summon  around  him 

(Though  not  to  confound  him) 
The  faith  of  the  Indian,  Egyptian  and  Jew, 


He  will  find,  as  he  goes 

To  where  science  first  rose, 
That  the  cause  of  the  divers  opinions  we  hold. 

Sprung  out  of  the  vanity 

Of  our  humanity. 
From  that  common  objection  to  being  controlled. 

And  with  ease  one  can  trace 

That  the  whole  human  race 
Had  one  primal  belief  in  an  infinite  Power, 

Which,  despite  of  false  sages. 

Moves  on  through  the  ages 
In  the  mind  of  mankind,  to  the  present  hour. 


S^MMM 


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f^f^im^^iM 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


|i 


(:; 


For  our  primeval  brood 

Was  not  savage  or  rude, 
As  we're  told  by  historical  writers  of  fiction, 

But  knew  all  the  arts 

To  their  intricate  parts. 
As  philology  teaches  beyond  contradiction. 


^!ii 


But  when  man,  in  his  pride 

His  Creator  denied. 
And  thus  lost  the  source  from  which  true  knowledge 
springs. 

He  moved  in  unrest 

O'er  the  great  world's  breast, 
And  sought  for  true  light  in  the  darkness  of  things. 

For,  philosophers  ever 

Have  essayed  to  be  clever, 
And  to  bend  everything  to  their  own  thought  and  will; 

And  they  think  it  high  treason 

If  things  beyond  reason 
Crop  up,  now  and  then,  just  to  baffle  their  skill. 

They  strive  to  be  wise 

By  disowning  God's  ties. 
And  seeking  enlightenment  out  of  old  bones ; 

They  call  it  sublime 

To  investigate  slime, 
And  search  for  life's  cause  in  inanimate  stones. 


I 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 

One  is  not  **  advanced  " 

Lest  he  ponder  entranced 
On  some  nondescript  fossil  or  monkey  with  wings ; 

To  be  counted  a  sage, 

One  must  grow  to  old  age 
In  searching  for  noihing  midst  tangible  things. 

One  now  has  no  need 

For  a  God-given  creed, 
Let  him  trust  in  the  ever  unsatisfied  "  how,  " 

Seek  his  ancestral  shape 

In  some  unrevealed  ape. 
And  superior  wisdom  beams  from  his  brow. 

Ah  !  the  manifold  ways 

That  Philosophy  plays 
With  that  gullible  morsel  we  call  human  wit. 

Is  ever  appearing 

More  painfully  glaring, 
As  Truth's  mighty  torch  on  Time's  bosom  is  set. 


Thus  arise,  now  and  then, 

From  the  point  of  a  pen, 
Multiform  creeds  by  wise  — fools  shadowed  out  ; 

Yet  the  glistening  bubble, 

Notwithstanding  their  trouble, 
Is  burst  in  the  end  by  a  spasm  of  doubt. 


'If     'rp-r 


if     II 


iii 


8 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


Some  sages  affirm 

The  original  germ 
Of  this  world  spontaneously  sprung  into  place ; 

And  they  cherish  the  notion 

That  it  came  by  its  motion 
From  a  nebulous  vapor  diffused  throughout  space ; 


lit 


I 


ill 


Whilst  others  conceit 

That  through  moisture  and  heat, 

Was  evolved  from  a  tiny  molecular  cell, 
By  a  sort  of  transition 
From  a  previous  position. 

This  heterogeneous  old  world  where  we  dwell. 


And  other  some  say, 

In  a  confident  way. 
That  it  was  but  a  spark  by  the  sun  thrown  out ; 

Yet  seems  it  most  queer 

That  it  stopped  short  in  air, 
And  then  took  a  new  and  circuitous  route. 


Still  more  will  declare 

That  from  Chaos  and  air, 
Through  an  instrumentality  now  known  as  heat, 

Developed  this  Earth, 

Like  a  premature  birth 
That  requires  care  and  fostering  ere  'tis  complete. 


I 
I 
n 


^Mwm\mi)tmmmmmmmmimmm»iMmmm  \ 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 

In  the  Indies  of  eld, 

The  doctrine  was  held 
That  an  elephant  hustled  us  round  in  his  track  ; 

And  who  has  not  heard 

Of  that  fable  absurd, 
How  great  Atlas  supported  the  world  on  his  back  ? 


Ah,  'tis  wonderful,  sure, 

To  note  how  obscure 
And  complex  the  theories  some  do  advance ; 

On  "final  perfection," 

And  ''Natural  selection," 
They'd  fill  up  with  notions  all  Heaven's  expanse. 

Yet  all  seem  agreed. 

Independent  of  creed. 
That  the  world  had  a  starting  point  far  in  the  past ; 

That  it  rose  self-possessed, 

With  all  power  in  its  breast. 
To  roll  on  through  space  while  the  ages  will  last. 

But  why  it  should  rise 

In  the  fathomless  skies 
At  one  certain  time,  and  not  ages  before, 

Is  the  question  which  bothers 

Myself  and  some  others. 
For  the  cause  of  its  being  is  the  scientist's  bore. 


f 


I    ini'« 


w 


I 


ii 


10 


WOODLAND  Ji AMBLES. 


For,  that  it  might  take 

Countless  ages  to  make 
The  first  germs  of  matter,  most  all  will  concede ; 

But  that  one  time  be  blest 

More  than  all  of  the  rest, 
Suggests  that  a  Mind  its  existence  precede. 

Yet  if  Matter  should  be 

All  eternal,  as  we 
Have  often  been  told  by  our  self-installed  wise, 

'Tis,  indeed,  very  strange 

It  is  subject  to  change. 
Which  fact  a  most  gross  contradiction  implies. 

For  **  eternal "  must  mean 

What  always  has  been 
And  ever  will  be  —  unaltered,  the  same ; 

Now,  things  that  still  grow. 

One  may  easily  show, 
Must  have  had  a  beginning,  which  shatters  that  claim. 

And  for  men  to  affirm 

That  pent  up  in  one  germ 
Were  all  of  the  potencies  Nature  displays. 

Requires  a  degree 

Of  credulity 
Much  greater  than  that  which  a  Christian  betrays. 


i-.'ywAwn.'mrmmimi 


wmm 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


II 


So  here,  by  the  way, 

I  may  truthfully  say, 
That  the  firmer  we  hold  to  the  teaching  of  Genesis, 

The  wiser  we'll  be, 

And  the  sooner  be  free 
From   the  mystified   creeds   with   which   wiseacres 
menace  us. 


1 


For  search  as  we  will. 

In  all  Nature  we  still 
Find  only  results  of  some  deep-hidden  force, 

And  the  strata,  the  rocks. 

And  the  volcanic  shocks. 
Proclaim  to  one's  mind  some  ulterior  source. 


There  is  nothing  we  know 

In  this  world  below, 
From  the  first  cosmic  era  throughout  to  the  eighth. 

That  stands  quite  alone 

On  a  positive  throne. 
For  knowledge  or  science  must  rest  upon  faith. 


Experience  may  teach 

Of  things  in  its  reach, 
It  may  point  out  relations  of  cause  and  effect. 

It  may  trace  out  the  rule 

Of  Nature's  great  school. 
But  the  why  and  the  wherefore  it  ne'er  can  detect. 


F<-y        -^rj^ 


I      t 


IS 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES, 


? 


Thus  much  one  may  learn, 

Ere  he  pass  'neath  the  urn  : 
Though  all  nature  be  questioned  from  zone  unto  zone, 

There  is  something  the  mind 

Must  leave  undefined, 
For  truth,  in  the  abstract,  can  never  be  known. 

Yet  there  must  exist  force. 

Or  all  matter,  of  course. 
Would  remain  to  this  day  but  a  substance  inert ; 

And  the  harmonious  action 

Of  growth  and  attraction 
Could  have  never  our  beautiful  universe  girt. 

And  though  we  may  trace 

All  the  realms  of  space 

For  the  cause  of  that  force  that  made  fire,  earth  and 
sea, 

We  will  find  it  to  rest 

In  Eternity's  breast. 

And  reason  demands  it  should  infinite  be. 

So,  though  science  may  be 

Quite  correct,  we  still  see 
A  question  beyond  it  that  puzzles  us  all, 

And  in  vain  Evolution 

May  seek  its  solution ; 
There  must  have  \itt\i  power y  or  all  matter  must  fall. 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 

And  'tis  my  belief, 

Expressed  here  in  brief, 
That  though  matter  and  motion  coeval  were,  still 

Before  these  was  power  — 

Eternity's  dower  — 
Residing  afar  in  an  almighty  Will. 

For  that  thing  we  call  force 

Must  have  sprung  from  some  source 
Above  and  beyond,  in  a  space  unconfined ; 

Thus,  though  Nature  began 

On  a  very  small  plan. 
Primeval  of  all  was  an  infinite  Mind. 

And  from  Mind,  Will  and  Power, 

In  an  all-hallowed  hour. 
In  the  deep-hidden  ages  Creation  arose. 

Till  spheres  out  of  number, 

From  Chaotic  slumber. 
The  regions  of  space  soon  began  to  disclose. 


13 


% 


But  I'm  not  here  to  tell 

The  identical  cell 
From  which  was  evolved  this  old  planet  called  Earth; 

Yet  as  far  as  I'm  able. 

From  Scripture,  or  fable. 
Or  science,  I'll  follow  it  up  from  its  birth. 


^m 


'I  f 


\\ 


«4 


WOODLAND  Ji AMBLES. 


From  a  nucleus  small, 

Or  perhaps  none  at  all, 
(For  before  Nature  was,  things  occurred  very  queer), 

Came  this  world  of  ours, 

Without  rocks,  men,  or  flowers, 
But  a  bright  mass  of  fire  in  the  shape  of  a  sphere. 


lit 


By  a  process  quite  strange. 

Out  of  scientists'  range. 
In  which  ether  and  wind  may  have  taken  some  part, 

This  planet  began 

To  grow  crusty,  as  man 
Will  become  when  he  feels  a  small  blaze  at  his  heart. 


For,  the  elements  of  Earth 

The  Creator  sent  forth 
In  the  first  of  all  time  ere  he  bade  them  unite ; 

And  each  had  its  power, 

Which  obtains  to  tliis  hour. 
To  form  air  or  water,  fire,  earth,  heat  or  light. 


Thus  did  Wisdom  create, 

In  a  gaseous  state, 
The  primitive  volumes  that  go  to  form  Earth; 

And  the  laws  they  obey 

Were  imposed  on  the  day 
When  infinite  Omnipotence  gave  them  birth. 


■B 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 

So  age  after  age, 

And  page  after  page, 
This  universe  grew  like  the  layers  of  a  tree, 

And  the  union  of  gasses. 

From  invisible  masses. 
Enveloped  it  all  in  a  limitless  sea. 


'5 


And  in  one  day, 

Which,  in  truth  we  may  say. 
Was  a  time  of  duration  beyond  mortal  ken, 

The  Omnipotent  Lord, 

By  a  thought  or  a  word, 
Divided  the  land  from  the  waters  again. 

For  a  day,  as  we're  told. 

The  Almighty  doth  hold 
In  the  palm  of  his  hand  as  a  myriad  of  years ; 

Thus  we  see  not  a  flaw 

In  the  Biblical  law. 
Nor  a  reason  that  Science  should  "get  on  its  ears." 

He  caused  to  spring  forth 

From  the  bowels  of  Earth, 
Ranges  of  mountains  that  poured  lava  tide 

From  east  and  from  wr-^st, 

'Till  the  vast  ocean's  breast 
Was  studded  with  continents  far  and  wide 


J 


•!M»! 


i  r 


i6 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


i 


Then  that  mystical  thing 

We  call  life,  seemed  to  spring 
From  some  principle  deep  in  Earth's  bosom  concealed; 

And  growth  of  new  kind 

Told  that  infinite  Mind 
Kept  far  greater  treasures  as  yet  unrevealed. 


m 


And  the  water,  the  air, 

And  the  earth  everywhere. 
Were  teeming  with  life  in  its  myriad  forms, 

From  the  least  protophyte 

To  the  lion  of  might. 
The  face  of  creation  with  new  being  swarms. 


Thus,  strange  to  relate. 

From  a  primitive  state. 
By  burning  and  cooling  and  bursting  betimes, 

At  last  was  unfurled 

This  beautiful  world. 
With  its  rocks,  trees  and  seas,  and  its  exquisite  climes. 


I  ill 


And  it  looked,  oh !  so  fair, 

As  it  rolled  off  in  air. 
That  the  Mind  (for  'tis  only  the  mind  that  can  plan) 

Conceived  the  existence. 

Away  in  the  distance. 
Of  a  being  we  know  by  the  small  name  of  **  man." 


mm 


WOODLAND  Rambles. 


17 


Just  how  man  came  to  be 

Matters  little  to  me, 

Whether  fashioned   from   monkey,  or  molecule,  or 
clay, 

Yet  still  I've  been  thinking. 
While  at  scientists  winking. 
He  was  very  much  like  what  we  find  him  today. 

And,  that  mortal  might  seem 

Of  creation  supreme. 
Omnipotence  formed  him  the  last  and  the  best ; 

And  gave  him  a  spirit, 

By  which  to  inherit 
That  kingdom  that  He  in  all  glory  possessed. 

And  the  first  of  our  race 

Had  his  dwelling  place 
In  a  garden  called  Eden,  where  four  rivers  met ; 

'Mid  fruit  trees  delicious, 

And  all  things  nutritious, 
And  but  for  his  capers  he  might  be  there  yet. 


Ml 


!'  !  I 


i8 


■1 1 


•■If 


ii' 


i 


WOODLAND  GAMBLES. 


TO  POESY. 

/^H,  Poesy,  thou  holy  art ! 
^^     Thou  enemy  of  human  woe  ! 
Thou  first  to  cast  the  vengeful  dart 

Against  humanity's  great  foe  ! 
Oh,  Muse  so  blest !     Oh,  gift  Divine  ! 

How  fondly  turns  my  soul  to  thee  ! 
What  hallowed,  mystic  charms  are  thine  ! 

And  oh,  how  sweet  thy  slave  to  be ! 

How  beautifully  sweet  it  is 

To  hold  communion  with  the  stars ! 
To  revel  in  the  mysteries 

That  lie  beyond,  to  burst  the  bars 
That  keep  the  soul  in  this  dull  sphere ; 

To  roam  at  will  in  Heaven's  smile  ; 
To  speak  with  angels  everywhere, 

And  yet  be  mortal  all  the  while  ! 

Such  the  poet's  magic  spell, 

He  sees  with  penetrating  eye 
Into  the  frowning  depths  of  hell, 

Into  the  empyrean  sky  ; 
He  sees  deep  in  the  heart  of  man. 

And  reads  the  secrets  hidden  there ; 
Nay,  even  hath  he  power  to  gain 

The  key  to  nature  everywhere. 


i 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 

I  will  not  say  the  poet's  life 

Is  in  some  fancied  realm  of  bliss, 
Nay,  rather  moves  he  midst  the  strife, 

And  grosser  atmosphere  of  this ; 
But,  priest-like,  lo  !  he  scorns  the  tongue 

Of  slander,  and  feels  ever  blest 
To  bear  the  sacrament  of  song 

To  some  poor,  troubled,  aching  breast. 

Ah  !  yes,  'tis  his  to  keep  alive 

The  pristine  beauty  of  the  soul. 
And  with  his  magic  pen  deprive 

Misfortune  of  its  wonted  dole ; 
And  he,  in  greatness  all  his  own. 

Shall  dwell  high  in  the  niche  of  fame ; 
Old  Homer's  songs  will  still  live  on. 

When  Caesar  simply  means  a  name. 


f 


«9 


Then  Heaven  bless  those  bards  of  ours  ! 

Honor  them  and  honor  theirs, 
Who  thus  kindly  scatter  flowers 

O'er  our  path  so  full  of  cares. 
Oh  !  would  that  I  could  be  among 

That  blessed  band  the  lowliest  knight ! 
To  breathe  the  atmosphere  of  song 

Would  be  to  me  supreme  delight. 


i 


f^ 


>■    ; 


I 


20 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


AN  OLD  MAN'S  LOVE. 

T   OFTTIMES  take  a  stroll  at  eve 
"^     Within  this  shady  grove, 
To  ponder  on  the  days  long  gone, 
And  Erin  that  I  love. 

For  in  this  quiet,  calm  retreat 
Sad  thoughts  steal  over  me, 

Of  the  dear  old  land  and  patriot  band 
That  strove  to  set  her  free. 

Ah  !  well  I  mind  me  of  the  time 

('Twas  many  years  ago), 
When,  youthful  then,  I  joined  the  men 

That  fought  old  Erin's  foe. 

Yes,  dear  old  spot,  of  Earth  the  best, 

I  think  of  thee  tonight, 
And  how  to  prove  my  heartfelt  love 

I'd  gladly  for  thee  fight. 

Though  age  has  done  its  work  with  me, 
That  land  I'll  ne'er  forget ; 

I'd  gladly  strike,  with  tongue  or  pike, 
A  blow  for  Erin  yet. 


h 

i 

* 

!  1 

.       «i 

1 
^ 

WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


31 


I  feel  the  fire  of  former  years 
Still  lingers  in  my  veins ; 

Although  I'm  old,  I  am  not  cold, 
My  heart  its  youth  retains. 

I  have  one  colleen  fair  to  see, 

With  eyes  of  Irish  blue. 
And  I  sing  her  songs  of  Erin's  wrongs. 

For  I  know  her  heart  is  true. 


'  H 


She  glories  in  the  days  of  yore, 
And  prides  herself  the  while. 

As  in  her  hair  entwining  there 
The  shamrock  of  our  Isle. 

And  when  at  length  the  day  will  come 

To  set  old  Ireland  free, 
Six  gallant  sons  (and  trusty  ones) 

Dear  land  I'll  send  to  thee, 

Plunged  in  the  fiercest  of  the  fight 
In  front  shall  they  be  seen. 

Each  hand  to  wave  a  worthy  glaive, 
Each  brow  a  plume  of  green. 

And  if  I  cannot  join  my  boys. 
Whilst  fighting  nobly  there, 

I'll  take  my  part  with  fervent  heart  — 
They'll  have  an  old  man's  prayer. 


^/' 


■■..rt«*6-i«i.>*(>at.i*«*,;: 


'II 


•fTT 


;i.i 


22 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


m 


Then  should  our  cause  by  chance  be  lost, 

Old  Erin,  sweet  asthore ! 
This  heart  shall  break  for  thy  dear  sake, 

/^r  d  who  can  give  thee  more  ? 


i 


i  I 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


23 


TO  EILEEN. 

AX7"HEN  I  see  the  laughing  beam 

In  thy  brilliant  azure  eye, 
It  reminds  me  of  a  stream 

That  I  loved  in  times  gone  by, 
When  the  moon's  soft,  mellow  gleam 

Was  quivering  in  the  wavelet  nigh. 

When  I  see  the  roseate  hue 
Of  those  velvet  cheeks  of  thine, 

I  bethink  me  —  once  I  knew 
A  flower  that  did  such  tints  combine, 

When  the  sunset  o'er  it  threw 
Its  parting  beams  in  light  divine. 


Thus,  when  my  heart  desires  to  see 
Those  things  that  were  its  chief  delight, 

I've  but,  sweet  girl,  to  gaze  on  thee, 
And  in  thy  face  so  warm  and  bright. 

That  stream  of  youth  comes  back  to  me. 
And  that  loved  flower,  all  bathed  in  light. 


'Ill   ''■ 

I 


'l!i 


i 
I 


!i 


11 

,!  I 


MM- 


24 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


TO  MAY  MARGUERITE. 


IN  HEAVEN. 

■p  ARE  WELL,  but  not  forever,  dear,  farewell ! 
"■•        Be  not  unmindful  in  that  brighter  sphere, 
Where  angel  souls  in  blest  existence  dwell. 
Of  those  who  all  too  sadly  linger  here. 


Let  not  the  vision  of  the  bright  beyond 
Cause  thee  to  forget  thy  sojourn  here ; 

Though  brief  thy  span  of  life,  a  mother  fond 
Sheds  for  that  vital  spark  her  warmest  tear. 

Our  home  is  sorely  drear  since  thou  art  gone  ; 

We  miss  thy  bright  blue  eyes,  thy  smile  so  sweet. 
But,  through  the  merits  of  The  Blessed  One, 

We  know  in  Heaven  blooms  our  May  Marguerite. 

Oh,  precious  babe  of  mine,  in  heavenly  bliss, 
Thou  little  saint  of  God,  forever  blest. 

In  that  great  world  beyond,  remember  this. 
And  pray  for  thy  parents'  souls'  eternal  rest ! 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


as 


ODE  ON  THE  EPISCOPAL  JUBILEE  OF 
POPE  LEO  XIII. 

FEBRUARY    I9TH,   1 893. 


T_T  AIL,  mighty  Pope  !     Hail,  spiritual  Sire  ! 
"*•         The  world  salutes  thee  on  this  festive  day, 

And  kneels  before  thine  august  throne  to  pay 
The  highest  tribute  mortal  can  desire  — 
The  offering  of  love's  perpetual  fire ! 

Thee  have  the  nations  gazed  on  from  afar. 

As  bright  thy  light,  and  shining  like  a  star, 
Beamed  o'er  a  troubled  world.     Love  doth  inspire 

Thine  every  act,  O  Pontiff  most  benign  ! 
To  thee,  vice-regent  of  the  Lord  Most  High, 

The  world  doth  turn  expectant  for  a  sign, 
And  hails  thee,  beloved  Leo,  "  light  in  the  sky." 


m 


O  Father  of  the  Faithful !     Blessed  indeed. 
Yea,  trebly  blest  is  he  upon  whose  brow 

Thou  sign'st  the  symbol  of  our  holy  Creed. 
Priest,  Bishop,  Pope,  all  these  do  thee  endow 
With  majesty  of  triple  power,  but  thou 


lyj^r^rfO  t^X^^anttAfjrj'^  '-jr^^  ^.'  .1 


IF 


26 


WOODLAND  Ji AMBLES. 


i  i 


) 

;.!ll 


•  Ml 


lilt 


ill 


Art  even  in  thy  very  nature  blest ; 

Thy  soul  with  greatness  teems,  thy  face  imprest 

With  love's  sweet  smile,  doth  win  the  world  to  bow, 
And  on  this  day  to  lift  their  hearts  with  thine 
In  glad  thanksgiving  to  the  Throne  divine. 

How  glorious  record  doth  thy  reign  display! 
Thy  life  how  bright  its  day  ! 

O  !  Orb  of  Wisdom,  ever  beaming  bright, 

Thou  illuminest  the  night, 

And  fillest  Earth  with  transcendental  light ! 
The  **  Angel  of  the  Schools  "  thou  bidst  once  more 
Bestow  his  precious  lore 
Upon  the  human  mind,  which  foes  assail 

With  wisdom  earthly  heedless  of  the  soul ; 
That  sea  of  wisdom  pure  thou  didst  unveil, 

Its  flood-gates  yielding  to  thy  sweet  control. 
The  gloomy  world,  that  lay  in  durance  vile 

Beneath  the  tyranny  of  Sophist  minds, 
Beheld  a  beacon  light  and  wore  a  smile, 

As  mariners  at  sea  midst  treacherous  winds. 


Then,  noble  Leo,  blest  guardian  of  the  fold  ! 

How  fondly,  in  solicitude  for  truth. 
Thou  opened  up  chit  mine  of  wealth  untold, 
The  archives  of  the  Vatican,  whose  lore 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


i7 


Is  to  the  human  intellect  far  more 

Than  erstwhile  was  the  fabled  Fount  of  Youth, 
Or  that  most   precious  stone   for  which,  as  we  are 

taught, 
The  dreamy  alchemist  so  vainly  sought. 


What  time  the  nations,  trembling  in  unrest, 

Behela  the  ominous  clouds,  the  surging  sea, 
That  threatened  to  engulf  them  in  its  breast 

Like  Peter  on  the  Sea  of  Galilee, 
Cried  out  in  agony  :  *'  Who  now  our  guide  will  be  ? 

'Twas  thou,  like  Saviour  blest. 
Made  answer :  "  Come  to  me 

And  I  will  give  you  rest." 


II 


There  came  a  cry  from  Afric*s  gloomy  shore 
Of  souls  that  slept  in  bondage,  and  the  sound 
Fell  sad  and  solemn  on  thy  loving  heart ; 
But  thou,  benignant  father,  bore  a  part 
Of  that  deep  wail  of  sorrow,  and  unbound 
The  manacles  the  nations'  pity  wore. 


I: 

I 
1 


Labor  was  prone  beneath  a  tyrant  yoke. 

When  thou,  great  Pontiff,  spoke, 
And  in  bold,  burning  wordj  most  eloquent, 
A  glorious  message  to  all  nations  sent. 

Which  straight  the  burden  broke. 


Il  I  ^'1' 


!' 


28 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


1 1 


I, 


Most  noble-hearted  Leo,  whether  it  be 
That  nations  struggling  in  a  stormy  sea 
Beset  by  darkness,  or  the  trodden  slave. 
Thy  holy  and  far-reaching  succor  crave  ; 
Whether  from  treacherous  shoals  of  unbelief 
Or  infidelity.  Earth  seeks  relief, 
Thy  mystic  light  leads  gloriously  on, 
Dispelling  clouds  and  scattering,  anon, 
The  blessings  of  thy  wisdom.     Every  land 
Hath  felt  the  bounty  of  thy  generous  hand  ; 
Thy  master  mind  hath  led  the  nations  out 
From  the  deep  chaos  of  soul-blighting  doubt. 
And  still,  despite  the  dark,  opposing  rocks 
Of  unbelief,  the  vain,  unseemly  shocks 
Of  heresy,  the  barque  of  Peter  sails 
In  glorious  triumph  midst  ungenerous  gales, 
And  thou,  beloved  Leo,  bold  and  brave, 
Dost  guide  her  safely  o'er  the  troubled  wave. 

Hail,  ever  loving  father,  may  thy  years 

By  Heaven  protected  be  ! 
Beam  bright  that  "  Light  in  Heaven"  which  nobly 
steers 

The  barque  of  Peter  over  Time's  dark  sea ! 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


29 


A  NEW  YEAR'S  POEM. 

T  SAW  an  old  man,  when  the  day  was  done, 
•■•     Set  down  his  spade  beside  the  chapel  door, 
Then  kneel  and  bless  himself,  and  one  by  one, 
Repeat  his  thumb-worn  Rosary  o'er  and  o'er. 

It  was  the  eve  before  the  glad  new  year ; 

The  sun  had  set  his  last  ray  on  the  old ; 
And  as  he  prayed  in  silence,  lo  !  a  tear 

Drop'd  from  his  eyelid  on  the  pavement  cold. 


I  thought,  so  like  each  bead,  came,  year  by  year, 
The  course  of  time,  tho'  changing  still  the  same, 

Decade  on  decade,  lo  !  the  years  appear. 
Beginning  and  ending  in  the  Saviour's  name. 


•    \ 


I 


w 


i'i 


'i 


;  1 1 


li 


111 


30 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


MUSINGS. 


pOND  memories,  so  kindly  sweet, 

"*•        How  dreary  life  without  your  charms ! 

How  bravely,  folded  in  your  arms, 
Could  I  a  thousand  dangers  meet ! 

Your  smile  would  banish  all  alarms, 
And  future  of  its  terrors  cheat. 


Things  that  were  fair  seem  doubly  bright, 
In  that  we  knew  them  long  ago ; 
Joys  of  the  past !  how  warm  they  flow 

In  fond  array  before  the  sight ! 
Nay,  sorrows  even  bear  a  glow 

Not  unakin  to  true  delight. 

We  scan  the  horizon  of  the  past. 
Fond  fancies  come  as  in  a  dream  ; 
And  terrors  that  we  felt,  do  seem  — 

Mere  trifles  o'er  life's  pathway  cast. 
Beneath  reflection's  smoothing  beam — 

Portentous  only  while  they  last. 


BX" 


»f 


i-; 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 

Oh,  how  I  love  to  dwell  among 
The  blissful  scenes  of  other  years  ! 
Albeit  they  woo  my  eyes  to  tears, 

As  'twere  each  scene  had  found  a  tongue, 
And  whispered  of  the  doubts  and  fears 

That  vexed  my  heart  when  I  was  young. 

I  mind,  as  gently  gliding  o'er 

The  waters  of  the  Genesee, 

I  heard  some  negro  melody 
Float  toward  me  from  the  nether  shore. 

So  strangely  sweet,  it  seemed  to  me 
I  never  heard  the  like  before. 


3« 


And  once,  when  from  famed  Cronest  height, 
I  viewed  the  Hudson  rolling  on, 
So  bright  its  queenly  waters  shone, 

Methought  it  was  the  fairest  sight 
That  mortal  eyes  could  gaze  upon, 

As  soft  its  wavelets  rolled  in  light. 


I  treasured  both  for  many  a  year. 
To  glad  me  in  my  lonesome  hours. 
As  one  more  fondly  prizes  flowers 

That  blossom  when  the  snows  are  here  ; 
For,  oh,  in  this  sad  world  of  ours, 

Too  often  flows  the  unbidden  tear  ! 


( 
« 
J 


t^jS/^'^fffeimafjim^^vj 


&!/.(tV''^-«.  f  1^ 


32 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


I , 


1.1       ! 


And  yet  there  is  a  dearer  joy 
That  wells  up  in  my  memory, 
A  holier  bliss  it  seems  to  me, 

A  golden  hour  without  alloy ; 
It  was  in  far-off  Acadie, 

And  I  was  but  a  thoughtless  boy. 

I  strayed,  one  afternoon  in  May, 
Beside  the  far-famed  Nor* -west  Arm, 
I  ^reamed  but  of  that  blissful  charm 

Tha'  in  its  pkcid  waters  lay. 

Why  glows  my  brow  with  passion  warm 

At  this  far  distant  after  day  ? 

I  saw,  upon  the  rock -girt  shore, 
A  gentle  maid  of  kindly  mood  ; 
I  watched  her  as  she  pensive  stood. 

And  scanned  the  glowing  landscape  o'er. 
It  was  a  blissful  solitude. 

And  sweet  the  smile  fair  Nature  wore. 


The  village  chapel  on  the  height — 
Sweet  **  Stella  Maris  —  "  fondly  rose. 
As  if  to  mitigate  my  woes, 

And  bless  the  stream  of  pure  delight 
That  even  yet  all  warmly  flows. 

Ah !  'twas  indeed  a  charming  sight ! 


^'^'immm,^. 


W^y 


WOODLAND  GAMBLES. 

The  brilliant,  broad  Chebucto  Bay 
Gleamed  'neath  the  fair  Acadian  sky ; 
But  far  more  precious  to  my  eye, 

Decked  with  the  simple  flowers  of  May, 
Was  she  for  whom  my  heart  doth  sigh 

At  this  far  distant  after-day. 


33 


11 


We  met,  we  spoke,  we  loved,  and  then 
There  stole  within  my  so'il  a  bliss. 
Which,  from  that  moment  unto  this. 

Fond  memory  loves  to  woo  again  ; 
For,  when,  to  me,  aught  goes  amiss. 

One  thought  of  her  w'U  ease  my  pain. 

That  one  dear  face,  of  all  I  knew 
The  most  supremely  fair,  appears 
Soft  floating  down  the  vale  of  years. 

And  so  enchanting  to  my  view. 
That,  though  my  eyes  are  dimmed  with  tears, 

My  soul  drinks  rapture  fond  and  true. 

I  see  that  smile  that  once  I  thought 

Gave  benediction  like  a  saint ; 

I  view  that  face  I  loved  to  paint 
In  years  gone  by,  those  tresses  wrought 

From  purest  gold,  that  blush  so  faint 
That  seemed  to  breathe  "  forget  me  not,  " 


.:^-',^^^^y^/^-''^''i  S; 


MW 


II 


i  'I 


34  WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 

Yes,  yes,  I  see  her  as  of  yore, 

The  same,  though  years  have  rolled  between ; 

I  met  her ;  she  was  scarce  sixteen, 
And  now — well,  now  she's  somewhat  more ; 

But,  oh  !  her  mild  and  gentle  mien 
Grows  lovelier  as  the  years  pass  o'er. 


It  woos  my  soul  to  loftier  aim 
To  revel  midst  the  lights  and  shades 
Of  long  ago — the  silent  glades 

Where  many  a  time  I  carved  her  name 
Upon  the  beechen  tree.     Care  fades 

Before  the  light  of  love's  soft  flame. 

0  Memory,  how  kind  thou  art 

To  cull  such  precious  flowers  for  me 
From  out  the  past !  To  let  me  see 

Those  eyes  that  first  sent  Cupid's  dart, 
Charged  with  heaven-born  ecstacy , 

Into  the  stillness  of  my  heart. 

1  would  not  give  such  joy,  I  wis, 

For  all  the  wealth  the  world  contains ; 

Far  more  to  me  the  mute  remains 
Of  some  dear  long-departed  bliss. 

The  fondest  hour  my  soul  obtains 
Is  in  such  reveries  as  this. 


■■«*i^*t<ii. 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


35 


TO  THE  RT.  REV.  STEPHEN  V.  RYAN, 

{Bishop  of  Buffalo^ 
On  the  Silver  Jubilee  of  His  Episcopate. 

C  HINE,  O  Sun,  in  thy  splendor ! 
*^     O  Day,  be  propitious  and  bright ! 

Ye  church  bells  chime 

For  this  gladsome  time 
That  fills  our  souls  with  delight ! 

With  heartfelt  joy  we  tender 
Our  homage  on  bended  knee, 

And  we  kiss  thy  r^ng. 

Dear  Bishop,  and  bring 
The  pledge  of  our  love  to  thee. 

Well  have  the  faithful  been  guarded. 
Whom  Christ  has  left  to  thy  care ; 

And  the  Church,  thy  bride. 

Feels  a  glow  of  pride. 
For  her  brow  is  so  chaste  and  fair. 

And  well  may  thy  zeal  be  rewarded, 
O  Bishop,  benignant  and  kind  ! 

And  thy  deeds,  may  they  shine 

With  a  glory  divine, 
For  aye  in  the  Infinite  Mind  ! 


Kl*''<^^':-',t^>;i*^if<-^-^.j,..^,-,. 


■' 

1^ 


I 


36 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


A  FRAGMENT. 


I 


.       I 


iM 


T   WAS  sitting  at  eve  by  the  river's  green  side, 
'■•     As  the  waters  flowed  on  to  the  sea, 
And,  like  the  warm  zephyr  that  swept  o'er  the  tide, 
Came  the  memory,  fair  maiden,  of  thee. 

My  mind  wandered  back  to  the  sweet  days  of  yore. 
To  those  times  when  we  met  in  the  grove ; 

And  once,  while  still  watching  the  billows'  wild  roar, 
Thou  did'st  pledge  me  thy  heart  and  its  love. 

The  moon  rose  up  soft,  as  when,  silent  and  lone, 

We  plighted  our  spirits  in  tears ; 
And  all  that  dear  sweetness  I  once  thought  my  own, 

Stole  back  from  the  bosom  of  years. 


11 


I  felt  a  warm  influence  steal  o'er  my  soul. 
And  I  knew  not  whence  came  it  or  how. 

But  I  yielded  my  heart  to  its  soothing  control. 
As  even  I  fain  would  do  now. 


I  J] 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


37 


And  I  saw,  like  a  spirit  transcending  in  light, 

Thy  form  bending  over  my  face, 
And  it  seem'd  I  could  yet,  in  that  im^ge  so  bright. 

Some  germs  of  affection  still  trace. 

Nay,  I  thought  that  my  heart  was  reflected  in  thine. 
Like  those  flowers  on  the  bank  of  a  stream 

That  soitly  to  kiss  their  own  image  incline, 
Yet,  alas !  it  was  only  a  dream. 

For  when  I  awoke  from  my  slumber  so  sweet. 
And  my  dreams  of  that  happier  day, 

I  heard  but  the  murmuring  waves  at  my  feet, 
As  they  hurried  along  on  their  way. 

But  still  in  my  memory's  chalice  I'll  keep, 

Thy  form  ever  sacred  and  dear; 
And  when  I  depart  to  the  valley  of  sleep. 

That  vision  will  follow  me  there. 


I. 


y^Yl'j'  f.*^:f^'^'^.-f^'*ya-''  t 


38 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES, 


OUR  LADY  OF  PEACE. 


I   SAW  the  Queen  of  Heaven  rise 
In  vision  bright  before  my  eyes, 

Soaring  high  above ; 
The  crescent  moon  beneath  her  feet, 
Her  outstretched  arms,  her  face  so  sweet, 

Filled  my  soul  with  love. 


Around  her  brow  a  crown  of  stars, 
Brighter  than  Mercury  e'en,  or  Mars, 

Shining  from  pole  to  pole ; 
And  as  I  viewed  her  face  the  while. 
The  benediction  of  her  smile 

Lighted  up  my  soul. 

I  felt  her  presence,  mighty  spell 
That  words  inadequately  tell, 

But  feeling  must  reveal  j 
And  oh  !  such  joys  within  me  moved, 
As  when  the  faces  we  have  loved 

Back  to  our  memories  steal. 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 

And  soft,  beyond  the  moon's  pale  light, 
I  heard  the  voices  of  the  night 

Rising  higher  and  higher ; 
Chanting  an  anthem  near  and  far, 
"  Peace  to  the  souls  that  troubled  are," 

Thus  sang  the  angel  choir. 

Down  on  the  evening  air  'twas  borne, 
Softly  it  came  as  came  the  morn, 

And  when  I  sadly  rose, 
The  voice  still  echoed  in  mine  ear, 
"  Peace  !  Peace  !  To  the  troubled  cheer  ! 

In  Heaven  is  repose." 


39 


%  1 


I' 


w 


f 


'I 


40 


WOODLAND  /^AMBLES. 


THE  PEARL  IN  THE  SAND. 


C  TRAYING  along  by  the  shore  one  day, 
*^     I  found  a  pearl  in  the  sand ; 
And,  blessing  my  luck,  I  bore  it  away 
To  my  home  in  a  distant  land. 


A  circlet  of  gold  'round  that  pearl  I  pressed, 

So  precious  to  me  did  it  seem ; 
And  I  wear  my  treasure  close  to  my  breast, 

Where  it  beams  with  beauty  supreme. 


The  wondering  crowd,  as  I  move  around. 

In  jealousy  gaze  at  me. 
And  all  because  of  that  pearl  I  found 

One  day  as  I  strayed  by  the  sea. 


WOODLAND  GAMBLES. 


41 


■i 


FATHER  HENNEPIN  AT  THE  FALLS  OF 

NIAGARA. 

TJ^AR  down  beyond  the  woodland  the  evening  sun 
**•  was  sinking, 

And  the  joyous  waves  kept  blinking  as  if  dazzled 
by  his  light 
Till  at  last,  as  if  forever,  he  kissed  the  golden  river 
And  resigned  his  holy  mansion  to  the  Mistress  of 
the  Night. 

Whilst  with  wild  and  deep  commotion,  far  greater 
than  the  ocean, 
Thundered  down  the  roaring  water  to  the  dread 
abyss  below ; 
And  with  weary  step  and  slowly,  like  pilgrim  pure 
though  lowly, 
Came  an  old  man  to  the  river,  and  his  hair  was 
white  as  snow. 


The  night  grew  fast  around  him,  o'er  the  plain  its 
garb  descended. 
Till   its  mystic  stillness  blended  with  the  waters 
flowing  on, 


3 


???*«S»5»»<»«S 


1' 


■PI  • 

ill  ■ . 


I! 


t ' 


42 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


And  alone  above  the  thunder  of  that  great  immortal 
wonder 
Like    a    star    within    the    heavens  stood    God's 
anointed  one. 


Down  on  the  green  sward  kneeling,  this  aged  priest 
uplifted 
His  voice,  as  gently  drifted  his  grey  locks  to  the 
breeze, 
And  there,  as  shades  grew  denser,  like  perfume  from 
a  ct  nser. 
Arose  the  grand  "  Te  Deum  "  among  the  startled 
trees. 


Above  the  thunder  of  waters  he  sang  that  ancient 
anthem 
And  down  along  the  river  its  echoes  seemed  to 
glide ; 
As  if  some  unseen  spirits,  in  passing  by,  had  listened 
And  caught  the  sweet  strains  falling,  and  bore  them 
o'er  the  tide. 


And  he  said  :    '*  O  mighty  waters  !  in  your  course 
unto  the  ocean. 
Let  a  hymn  of  true  devotion  ever  o'er  your  waves 
resound, 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


43 


To  the  great  God  dwelling  yonder,  in  whose  eyes  ye 
are  no  wonder, 
But  whose  mighty  presence  ever  can  in  your  breast 
be  found." 


'Tis  two  hundred   years  and  over  since  beside  this 
roaring  water 
Stood  that  hoary  old  Franciscan  with  cross  and 
book  in  hand  ; 
Now  'tis  filled  with  stranj^ers,  the  sad  and  joyous- 
hearted. 
But  the  name  of  him  departed  seems  forgotten  in 
the  land. 


44 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


1 1 


TO  ELSINORE. 


T   REMEMBER  a  spot  far  away,  far  away, 
"*•     Where  ofttimes  I  rambled  at  cl      of  the  day, 
To  which  the  kind  sun  did  such  Ulster  impart. 
That  made  every  warm  impulse  wake  up  in  my  heart. 

Oh  !  that  sweet  little  valley  was  fair  to  behold, 
Ai.d  I  loved  its  mild  influence  better  than  gold ; 
Its  groves  were  so  green,  and  its  flowers  were  so  fair. 
But  its  sweetest  enchantment  was  when  thou  wert 
there. 


Hov/  this  moment  my  heart  swells  when  thinking  of 

thee  ! 
And  the  hours  that  we  spent  in  that  grove  by  the  sea. 
When  thy  form  like  an  angel  stole  soft  to  my  side. 
And  my  soul  drank  in  rapture  too  sweet  to  abide. 


It  may  be  that  our  parting  was  meant  for  long  years. 
It   may  be  we  were  born  for  misgivings  and  fears, 
It  may  be  that  we  never  will  meet  as  of  yore. 
But  my  heart  will  be  faithful  to  thee  evermore ! 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


45 


AN  INCIDENT. 


Y  OUNG  Colin  and  the  maid  he  loved, 

Close  by  a  fair  Acadian  town, 
Upon  the  beach  together  roved 

One  evening  as  the  sun  went  down. 

He  was  a  blue-eyed,  soulful  youth, 
With  just  a  touch  of  pensive  mood. 

Whose  lips  were  wont  to  speak  the  truth, 
E'en  tho'  at  times  it  might  seem  rude. 

And  she  was  of  that  dark-eyed  type 
Of  beauty  that  men  so  admire  ; 

Her  brow  so  sweet,  her  lips  so  ripe. 
Seemed  all  a  youth  could  well  desire. 

Full  of  the  future  was  his  mind. 
With  glowing  themes  and  blissful  hope. 

While  she  was  a  trifle  more  inclined 
To  take  of  things  a  nearer  scope. 

He  told  her  of  his  prospects  fair. 
His  aim  in  life,  his  future  schemes. 

But  she  wore  a  listless,  far-off  air, 
Like  one  who  lived  a  life  of  dreams. 


'I 


r '  I 


\' 


i;i  ;■• 


46  WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 

**  Ah,  wilt  thou  be  my  own,"  he  cried, 
With  all  the  passion  love  could  lend  ; 

She  said  "  I  cannot  be  your  bride. 
But  I  will  always  be  your  friend.  " 

They  parted,  and  the  years  rolled  on. 
Though  Cupid  frown'd,  good  Dives  smiled 

Soon  Colin  gathered  wealth,  anon, 
Becoming  Fortune's  favored  child. 

It  happened  once  again  by  chance 
He  strolled  at  eve  beside  the  shore, 

To  gaze  upon  that  broad  expanse 
That  he  had  loved  in  days  of  yore. 

The  rolling  sea,  the  setting  sun. 
The  arch  of  Heaven  in  azure  hues, 

That  tempted  him  in  days  long  gone 
Unconsciously  to  wed  the  muse. 

Now,  destiny  works  wondrous  ways, 
And,  strange  as  it  may  seem  to  be, 

Young  Colin  found  his  wandering  gaze 
Drawn  softly  from  the  heaving  sea. 

Beside  him  stood  that  maiden  form 
That  erstwhile  was  his  soul's  delight, 

Those  same  dark  eyes  with  passion  warm 
Glowed  'neath  the  sun's  receding  light. 


^1 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 

'*Ah,  Colin,  does  thy  mind  recall 
The  precious  hours  in  former  years 

We  watched  the  billows  rise  and  fall, 
And  talked  of  future  doubts  and  fears.  " 


47 


led 


•il 


"  I  well  remember  it,  sweet  maid ; 

I  asked  thee  then  to  be  my  bride, 
But  thy  young  heart  was  sore  afraid 

To  trust  with  me  life's  stormy  tide.  " 

"  I've  changed  since  then,  "  she  meekly  said. 
And  sad  her  bosom  heaved  a  sigh ; 

He  calmly  turned  away  his  head 
And  coldly  answered,  "  So  have  I.  " 


il 


, ;   ■;! 


'ii 


48 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


MIDNIGHT  MASS  IN  ST.  SULPICE. 

T    HEARD  the  silvery  tones  of  the  chimes  as  they 

rang  from  the  belfry ; 
I  heard  their  mystical  notes  as  they  broke  on  the 

hush  of  the  evening 
And  solemnly  told  to  the  people  the  birthday  of  the 

Redeemer, 
As  the  angel  in  times  gone  by  to  the  shepherds  who 

watched  on  the  mountains. 
Slowly,  with  reverent  mien,  the  throng  moved  along 

to  the  college 
That  stands  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain  —  the  seat  of 

the  saintly  Sulpicians  ; — 
Stands,  like  the  Rock  of  Ages,  o'erlooking  the  city 

beneath  it ; 
Stands  like  a  beacon  of  light  —  home  of  religion  and 

learning. 
Out  from  its  antique  windows,  illumined  with  figures 

of  angels, 
Gleamed  forth  a  brilliant  reflection  that  seemed  like 

a  mirror  of  Heaven, 
As  o'er  the  silvery  snow,  and  soft  on    the  trees' 

crystal  branches, 


I 


Woodland  hambles. 


40 


-« 


The  crimson,  the  green  and  the  gold,  unite  in  har- 
monious beauty. 
Lo !    from  the  heart  of  the  chapel  came  a  gush  of 

heavenly  music. 
That  charmed  the  soul  like  the  hymn  of  the  angels 

before  the  Eternal ; 
'Twas  my  angel  that  spoke  to  my  heart,  so  turning 

my  steps  to  the  mountain, 
1  moved  with  the  rest  of  the  throng,  and  we  entered 

the  chapel  together. 
There  at  the  head  of  the  aisle  stood  the  "  crib,"  and 

around  it  were  kneeling 
The  "Men  of  the  East"  and  the  shepherds,  while 

the  ass  and  the  ox  rest  beside  them ; 
There,  too,  knelt  the  Virgin   Mother,   and  Joseph 

who  looked  with  devotion. 
Looked  on  that  object  of  love  —  a  young  infant — the 

promised  Redeemer, 
Looked  as  if  he  discerned  the  trials,  temptations  and 

sorrows 
That,  ere  many  years  would  pass.  He  would  suffer 

for  man's  salvation. 
Sudden,   in   plaintive  accords,  there  arose  from  the 

mystic  stillness 
The  sad,   the  soul-thrilling  strains   of   the  solemn 

Kyrie  Eleison, 
Beseeching  the  mercy  of  God  for  the  manifold  sins 

of  His  children, 


fiir<rWiTi»TWi-iiiTif'i-.riT-r"'-inirwiWf-rtirTnrwir'-rrrr'"' 


so 


WOODLAND  GAMBLES. 


Imploring  the  mercy  of  Christ  from  the  infinite  love 

of  His  bosom. 
Then  rose  the  hymn  of  the  angels  —  the  **  Gloria  in 

Excelsis" — 
Rose  like  the  spirit  of  love  to  the  throne  of  the 

Father  Almighty. 
"Glory,  glory,  glory,  glory  to  God  in  the  highest ! 
And  on   earth  let   peace   to   men  of  good  will   be 

granted  ! 
Thee  we  adore,  O  God  !     To  Thee  let  all  praise  be 

given ! 
Thanks  we  offer  to  Thee  because  of  Thy  infinite 

glory  !  " 
Then  did  the  soul  of  religion  sink  deep  in  my  heart  as 

I  listened. 
And   heard,  with  awe  reverential,  the   voices    that 

echoed  in  Heaven. 
Lo  !  with  a  holy  devotion  the  celebrant  mounted  the 

altar. 
And  sang  in  a  voice  all  solemn,  resounding  through- 
out the  whole  chapel, 
Intoning   the    glorious    "Credo" — that   faith,  the 

salvation  of  mortals. 
Which,  to  the  saints  once  delivered,  shall  last  through 

the  ages  eternal. 
Slowly  the  choristers  answered,  their  hearts  respond- 
ing, when  suddenly 
All  was  silent  as  death — 'tis  the  time  of  the  mystical 

silence. 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


51 


■4 

I 


■•^1 


The  "  Sanctus  "  bell  is  tolled,  and  solemn  its  echoes 

resounding, 
Strike  to  the  inmost  soul,  while  the  bosom  throbs 

with  devotion, 
Crying  "Oh!  blessed  is  He  who  cometh  in  nomine 

Domini  / ' ' 
Earth  stands  with  bated  breath  as  the  Lamb  of  the 

Lord  approaches ; 
Peace  reigned  over  all  hearts  when  loud  the  "  Adeste 

Fideles'' 
Rang  through  the  aisles  of  the  chapel  and  out  on  the 

air  of  the  morning. 
Ah,  it  was  sweet  to  contemplate  that  sight,  and  those 

manifold  voices 
Raised  in  thanksgiving  to  God,  in  the  midst  of  such 

glory  and  splendor ; 
Oh !    that  with  words  I  could  utter  the  joy  of  my 

heart  at  that  moment, 
As  I  felt  that  the  Son  of  Man  was  for  me  exposed  in 

that  manger ! 
The  thoughts  that  then  rushed  to  my  mind  filled  my 

tremulous  heart  with  emotion, 
That  flowed  o'er  my  weary  soul  like  balm  on  the 

wounds  of  the  wounded. 
The  Regia  Missa  was  done,  when  some  two  hundred 

students  assembled. 
Receiving  the  Holy  Communion  from  the  hands  of 

the  priest  at  the  railing ; 


'i'4**f*W^9»s*^'-4'-%»'^-ai--- 


;jl 


!W<     ' 


I 'Hi' 

Hi 


i 


'  •  ; 


S3 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


Then  followed  the  young  Seminarians,  the  tonsured 

sub-deacons  and  deacons, 
As  the  shepherds  in  times  of  old,   when  they  left 

their  flocks  on  the  mountains  ; 
Then  lastly  the  celebrant  rose,  and,  lifting  his  eyes 

up  to  Heaven, 
He  blessed  us  in  nomine  Pairis,  et  Filiiy  et  Spiriius 

Sancti  ! 
Slowly  they  entered  the  vestry  and  left  us  alone  in 

th''  stillness, 
To  think  on  the  beauty  of  God  and  the  glory  that 

reigns  in  Heaven  ; 
Then  lastly  the  multitude   rose,   and,  leaving  the 

chapel,  proceeded 
Along  through  the  snow  to  the  city,  and  turning, 

they  scattered  asunder. 
Oh  !   many  a  time  have  I  thought,  as  I  sat  all  alone 

by  the  fireside. 
And  gazed  on  the  flickering  blaze  that  shed  its  dim 

light  o'er  my  chamber. 
Of  that  cold,  chilly  Christmas  eve,  when  the  winds 

from  the  noble  St.  Lawrence 
Swept  o'er  the  snow-covered  fields,  and  round  the 

old  walls  of  the  college. 
Ever,  while  memory  lasts  me,  the  thoughts  of  that 

night  shall  I  cherish. 
Ever,  as  long  as  my  blood  shall  continue  to  course 

through  its  channels. 


ii 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


53 


Ever,  so  long  as  this  bosom  of  mine  knows  pleasure 

or  sorrow, 
So  shall  my  heart  ever  sigh  for  that  night  that  I 

spent  in  that  chapel. 


I 


l;i 


54 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


RESURGAM. 

'IX^HEN  Thou,  O  Christ !  moved  on  this  earth, 

And  bore  for  us  a  thousand  woes. 
E'en  from  the  moment  of  Thy  birth 

Until  the  grave  did  o'er  Thee  close, 
Thou  show'd  Thyself  most  truly  man 

In  all,  save  that  Thou  could'st  not  sin ; 
Thy  life  through  pain  and  sorrow  ran. 

Yet  nourished  Thou  a  peace  within. 

But  oh  !  'twas  not  until  that  day 

When  Mary  stood  beside  Thy  tomb, 
And  gazing  where  Thy  body  lay, 

Found  nothing  but  the  silent  gloom. 
Thou  proved'st  Thyself  a  God  indeed 

By  rising  triumphant  o'er  the  grave, 
Thus  giving  to  the  world  a  creed  — 

A  universe  of  souls  to  save. 


[I 


^i 


I 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


55 


s  earth, 


MY  LADY. 

J^OWN  in  a  shady  grove 
Rarest  of  Aidenns  — 
Dwells  my  sweet  lady  love, 
Fairest  of  maidens ! 

Yes,  she  is  beautiful. 
Lithesome  and  airy, 

Queenly,  yet  dutiful,  ' 
Bright  as  a  fairy. 

Swanlike  her  slenderness, 
Treasure  of  neatness ! 

Dovelike  her  tenderness, 
Jewel  of  sweetness ! 

And  as  I  gaze  on  her. 

Angelic  creature ! 
Love's  soft  light  plays  on  her. 

Kissing  each  feature. 

Truth  fondly  hovering 

Ever  above  her, 
Fresh  charms  discovering, 

That's  why  I  love  her. 


i 


III 


w 

I  !  a 

'I! 


I 


i 


i 


I 


56 


WOODLAND  HAMBLES. 


ESTRANGED. 

T    OVE,  dost  thou  remember  years  ago, 
•*"'     It  was  a  pleajant  summer  afternoon, 
All  nature  smiled,  and  with  impassioned  glow 

The  sunbeam  kissed  the  sweet,  fresh  rose  of  June? 
'Twas  then  I  saw  thee  first,  thy  tresses  curled 

In  radiant  splendor,  and  I  fancied  thee 
The  blissful  tenant  of  some  sinless  world. 

So  full  of  fervor  thou  did'st  seem  to  be. 

Dost  thou  remember,  after  many  years 

I  saw  thee  once  again?    Ah,  Time,  thou  thief! 

To  cause  such  pleasure  then,  and  now  such  fears. 
To  yield  such  sweetness,  and  withal  so  brief ! 

Oh,  treasured  hour,  so  redolent  of  bliss  ! 
How  well  I  mind  me  every  precious  smile  ! 

They  were,  indeed,  too  sweet  to  last  to  this. 

But,  oh !  they  gave  such  pleasure  for  the  while  ! 

We  strayed  where  elms  the  verdant  margin  crown, 
Where,  waving  gently  in  the  sylvan  grove, 

The  emerald  osiers,  bending  softly  down, 
Appeared  to  kiss  the  rivulet  they  love. 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


57 


June? 


lief! 
irs, 

f! 


e! 


There  did  I  sing  to  thee,  and  thou  did'st  praise, 
And  when  I  kissed  thy  cheek  thou  did'st  not  chide ; 

Nay,  when  I  told  thee  tales  of  other  days. 
Thou  seem'dst  so  pleased  to  have  me  by  thy  side. 

What  was  there  in  that  cosy,  calm  retreat  ? 

Was  it  the  sadness  of  the  waning  year 
(For  sadness  oft  engenders  feelings  sweet). 

That  made  me  in  that  moment  seem  so  dear  ? 
Methinks  I  view  again  the  same  old  spot, 

And  we,  twin-hearted,  roam  the  meadow  o'er  ; 
Is  not  this  flower  a  sweet  forget-me-not 

That  thou  didst  pluck  for  me  in  days  of  yore  ? 

Ah,  yes,  sweet  maid,  I  have  not  judged  amiss. 

That  heart  of  thine  was  never  false  to  me; 
Those  lips  I  know  retain  my  parting  kiss. 

As  virgin  still  as  when  I  gave  it  thee. 
Some  day,  sweetheart,  some  day  again  we'll  meet, 

I  know  not  when  it  may  be,  but  I  feel 
Life  treasures  yet  for  me  that  blissful  treat  — 

To  find  thy  heart  its  secret  truth  reveal. 


own, 


Ill     I 


II;  I 


f  i 


ii     t 


'it 


58 


WOODLAND  GAMBLES. 


THE  TRAMP  TO  HIS  HAT. 

/""^OME,  hat,  how  fares  it  with  thee?    Thou   art 

^     pale  — 

A  ghastly  thing,  hung  there  upon  a  nail. 

Tell  me,  wast  thou  made  of  goodly  stuff, 

To  fade  away  from  sober  brown  to  buff? 

I  can't  say  much,  but  this  I'm  bound  to  say : 

We've  had  our  share  of  hardship,  so  today 

We'll  pull  our  luck  together.     This  droll  sfihere 

Owes  us  each  a  living  whilst  we're  here. 

Throw  off  that  dull  appearance  and  look  bright ; 

We  both  have  youth  before  us —  the^t",  that's  right. 

I'll  brush  thee  more,  perhaps  it  serves  as  food  — 

They  say  a  rubbing,  now  and  then,  is  good. 

How  oft  did  unkind  fate  knock  thee  about. 

And  mar  the  structure  of  that  form  once  stout ; 

And  yet,  the  while,  with  philosophic  air, 

I  saw  thee  smile  beneath  thy  weight  of  care. 

'Tis  ever  so  ;  who  would  his  wrongs  outlive. 

Must  learn  to  bear  with  patience  and  forgive. 

And  thus,  with  feelings  of  profound  regret, 

I've  seen  thee  suffer  for  my  sake,  and  yet 

I  love  thee  all  the  more  the  more  unkind 

The  world  has  been  to  thee,  for,  to  my  mind. 

Thou  art  the  image  of  my  better  self. 

Too  oft,  alas  !  thrown  by  upon  the  shelf. 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


59 


Ah,  well,  dear  hat,  let  nature  take  its  course ; 

Some  few  exist  by  kindness,  some  by  force. 

The  greater  power  the  greater  resistance  meets; 

Thus  you  and  I  get  blows  in  place  of  treats. 

Creation  is  jealous  to  its  inmost  core. 

So  fire  and  water  are  constantly  at  war. 

Earth  yields  to  earth,  and  stone  gives  way  to  stone. 

And  naught  will  endure  save  one  Great  Power  alone ; 

So  we,  old  hat,  though  injured  oft  I  fear. 

Must  buffet  the  world  for  what  we  deem  our  share. 
Thou  seem'st  yet  comely.    I  ?    Well,  I'm  not  strong, 
But  somehow  or  other  I'll  strive  to  push  along ; 
And  whither  I  go,  thou  too  must  come  with  me. 
To  share  my  fortune,  whatsoe'er  it  be. 
Know  that  where  e'er  my  time  I  may  beguile, 
Thou  shalt,  dear  hat,  be  with  me  all  the  while ; 
And  mayhap,  when  I  quit  this  mundane  sphere, 
They'll  place  thee  kindly  on  my  humble  bier. 


wn^^  --■>vK,jj»a' 


^jjsat 


^% 


i 


■       I 


60 


WOODLAND  H AMBLES. 


THE  WAVE  OF  DEATH. 

LJ  AVE  ye  heard  the  voice  of  wailing  ?     Have  ye 

heard  the  sound  of  woe 
That  comes  from  the  heart  of  our  beautiful  land,  so 

sadly  stricken  low  ? 
Have  ye  heard  the  cry  of  orphaned  ones  that  over 

field  and  plain 
Seek  for  their  parents'  fond  embrace  —  but  seek  for 

it  in  vain  ? 
'Twas  terrible,  indeed,  to  watch  the  sad  and  mourn- 
ful tread, 
And  haggard  looks  of  the  widowed,  as  they  pass 

among  the  dead ; 
And  to  note  the  stare  of  vacancy,  of  sadness  in  the 

eye 
Of  the  bright  young  bride  that  yesterday  seemed 

glad  as  the  summer  sky. 
Oh !    had  y^  viewed  the  piteous  sight,  the  mangled 

and  the  dead, 
Bestrew  the  beautiful,   fair  fields  where    erstwhile 

lambkins  fed  ; 
Had  seen  the  vale  of  the  Conemaugh,  as  the  hamlets 

by  its  side 
Were  swept,  like  chaff  before  the  wind,  in  the  awful 

seething  tide ; 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


6i 


Had  seen  the  host  of  human  souh  torn  onward  in  its 

course, 
As  headlong  plunged  the  maddening  wave,  tremen- 
dous in  its  force ; 
Had  seen  the  helpless  mother,  with  the  babe  upon 

her  breast, 
Torn   and  hurled  aloft  upon   the  water's  foaming 

crest ; 
The  rich  and  poor  alike,  floating  onward  with  the 

flood, 
For  the  messenger  of  death  takes  no  cognizance  of 

blood ; 
Had  ye  seen  it,  had  your  eyes  beheld  those  raging 

waters  flow. 
Your  heart  scarce  tlien  could  realize  this  plenitude 

of  woe ; 
For  if  there  be  a  time  for  grief  in  any  human  breast, 
'Tis  when  the  hand  of  death  lays  low  the  one  we 

loved  the  best ; 
When  sadly,  without  warning,  or  scarce  time  to  shed 

a  tear. 
One  views  torn  from  him  all  he  prized  —  all  he  once 

held  dear. 
And   if,   beneath  the  arching  sky,  true  charity  be 

found, 
'Tis  surely  when  such  multitudes  of  stricken  souls 

abound. 
And,  oh  !  if  there  be  pity  felt  in  any  mortal  heart. 


I  (  ' 


ii 


63 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


I  iLi 


W 


This  is  the  most  auspicious  time  to  ward  off  sorrow's 

dart. 
Ah  !    this  indeed  is  the  saddest  hour,  and  who  can 

fail  to  weep? 
What  heart  so  cold,  what  soul  so  dead  in  this  dark 

hour  to  sleep  ? 
The  homes  that   yesterday  were  glad,   today    are 

wrapped  in  gloom  ; 
And  many  a  being  stalks  about  like  to  a  living  tomb. 
Dejected  souls  and  desolate  are  seen  on  every  side ; 
And  ruin  vast  and  misery  are  scattered  far  and  wide. 
Not  in  the  still  of  night  came  the  sound  upon  their 

ears, 
But  full  in  the  light  of  the  day  the  harvester,  Death, 

appears ; 
Not  when  all  was  hushed  in  sleep  like  a  coward  thief 

he  came. 
But  flushed  with  his  might  at  noonday's  height  came 

he  with  deadly  aim. 
innocent  as  a  child  at  play,  dreaming  naught  of  care 

or  woe. 
Still  and  secluded  and  calm  lay  the  towns  in  the 

vale  below ; 
Least  of  all  their  thoughts  that  Death,  with  stem, 

unpitying  face. 
Was  bearing  down  upon  them  with  accelerated  pace. 
At  length  they  hear  a  sound,  as  of  waters  bellowing 

near. 


WOODLAND  H AMBLES. 


63 


And  quick  before  their  startled  gaze,  the  furious 
waves  appear ! 

And  fast  the  dismal  news  spreads  'round  about,  and 
far  and  wide. 

But  faster  o'er  those  fated  towns  sweeps  the  relent- 
less tide ; 

And  there  is  hurrying  to  and  fro,  no  time  for  fond 
farewells, 

For,  mark  how  vastly  with  each  pace  the  mighty 
current  swells ! 

And  some  are  horror-struck  and  dumb,  and  watch 
with  bated  breath. 

As  onward  on  its  dread  course  comes  the  tidal  wave 
of  death. 

Mark  how  the  raging  waters  foam  !  See  how,  plung- 
ing down. 

Mighty  and  massive  and  deadly,  like  an  avalanche 
o'er  the  town. 

The  giddy  flood  rolls  on,  as  if  it  gloated  in  its  sway, 

And  still  more  dreadful  grows  as  it  scours  upon  its 
way  ! 

Madly  it  tears  in  its  wild  uproar,  not  caring  whither 
bound. 

The  waters  rush,  and  seethe,  and  crush,  with  stun- 
ning and  deadly  sound. 

Tumultuously,  nay,  savagely,  like  a  lion  mad  for 
prey. 

In  the  frenzy  wild  of  anarchy,  the  ruthless  waves 
make  way. 


64 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


m  II  t) 


Like  a  maelstrom  plunging  headlong  down  the  valley 

swift  it  came, 
Scarce  a  soul  had  time  to  call  upon  our  Holy  Maker's 

name; 
No  time  for  contemplation  given  to  soothe  the  part- 
ing breath, 
Or  ponder  on  the  all  uncertain  certainty  of  death ; 
No  "  De  profundis  "  sang  for  them,  no  funeral  knell 

was  tolled. 
As  down  o'er  the  pitiless  waters  their  lifeless  bodies 

rolled. 
In   mighty  volumes    poured    the    flood    impetuous 

hurrying  on. 
And  town  after  town  went  sweeping  down  till  its 

awful  course  was  run. 
There  was  weeping  in  abundance,  there  were  faces 

filled  with  awe, 
When  night  closed  in  around  on  the  vale  of  Cone- 

maugh. 
The  North  land  hears  it,  and  the  South,   and  far 

from  East  to  West, 
The  wail  goes  forth  —  ten  thousand  souls  are  swept 

to  their  final  rest. 
Ah,  famine,  plague  and  pestilence  have  summoned 

many  a  tear. 
And  war  has  stretched  its  thousands  on  a  sad,  un- 
timely bier. 
And  fire,  and  shipwreck,  and  disease,  have  taken 

thousands  more, 


,Ml 


^  I' 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


65 


But  ne'er  destruction  dire  as  this  has  touched  our 

hearts  before ! 
For  never,  since  this  land  of  ours  by  human  feet  was 

trod, 
Were  so  many  souls,  in  so  short  a  time,  brought  face 

to  face  with  God. 
Take  up  your  dead,  ye  few  who  live  in  that  vale  once 

bright  and  fair. 
Ere  yet  a  greater  pestilence  may  poison  all  the  air  ! 
Dry  up  your  tears,  for  ye  have  won  a  whole  world's 

sympathy, 
And  Heaven  grant  that  sorrow,  too,  may  from  your 

bosoms  flee  ! 
And  take  from  us  in  kindness  what  we  with  gladness 

share  — 
The  warmest   love  within   our   hearts  to  soothe   a 

brother's  care; 
And  freely,   too,  in  Heaven's  name,  we  give  ye  of 

our  store. 
And  last   of  all  our  blessing  —  we  cannot  give  ye 

more. 


M 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


ACUSHLA  GAL  MO  CHREE. 

TT HERE'S  a  maiden  fair  and  bonny 
'*■       With  golden  hair  and  sunny, 
And  sweeter  far  than  honey 

This  maiden  seems  to  me  ; 
For  I  love  her  —  yea,  adore  her, 
And  I  rate  none  else  before  her, 
Neither  Flora,  nor  Aurora, 

Oh,  acushla  gal  mo  chree  ! 

It  was  in  the  spring  I  met  her, 
And  I  never  can  forget  her. 
For  she  set  my  heart  a-flutter 

Like  a  sunbeam  on  the  sea  ; 
When  I  stole  my  arm  around  her. 
And  in  love's  embrace  soft  bound  her, 
Oh,  'twas  then,  indeed,  I  found  her 

Acushla  gal  mo  chree. 


When  I  asked  her  if  she  loved  me, 
With  a  sly  glance  she  reproved  me, 
But  an  inward  feeling  moved  me 

That  her  heart  was  "  fancy  free  "  ; 


JVOODLAND  RAMBLES, 

And  I  thought  if  I  would  win  it, 
It  was  time  I  should  begin  it, 
Sol  "set  my  cap"  that  minute 
For  acushla  gal  mo  chree. 

And  I  wasn't  long  about  it 

Before  all  fears  were  routed. 

And,  indeed,  you  needn't  doubt  it, 

For  she  writes  me  o'er  the  sea, 
That  I  am  her  greatest  pleasure. 
And  she  loves  me  out  of  measure  — 
Oh,  she's  my  darling  treasure, 

Acushla  gal  mo  chree. 


67 


She  is  like  the  morning-glory, 
And  her  voice,  like  some  old  story. 
Charms  the  young,  the  brave,  the' hoary, 

No  matter  where  she  be  ; 
She's  a  flower  of  life's  first  order; 
She's  my  spirit's  sweet  disorder. 
And  if  fervor  can  reward  her. 

She's  acushla  gal  mo  chree. 


68 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


<:^" 


THE  MINSTREL'S  TALE. 

A  1  rp^LL,  boys,  I'll  take  a  sup, 

Just  to  cheer  my  spirit  up, 
For  I  dearly  like  a  drop 

Of  good  poteen  ; 
It  makes  the  heart  so  light. 
And  the  spirit  takes  a  flight 
To  a  realm  of  pure  delight 

And  golden  sheen. 

The  night's  a  trifle  cold, 
And  I'm  getting  rather  old, 
And  so,  not  making  bold, 

I'll  rest  awhile ; 
For,  egad,  the  cheerful  glow 
Of  your  faces  warms  mc  so, 
I  will  rosin  up  my  bow 

And  with  you  smile. 

You'd  like  to  hear  a  tale 
Of  dear  old  Innisfail  — 
A  story  of  the  Gael  ? 

Alas  !  1  fear 
That  when  my  mind  runs  so, 
With  thoughts  of  long  a;,;i>. 
The  tear  may  easy  How 

All  unaware. 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 

There's  scarce  a  soul  on  earth 
But  loves  his  place  of  birth, 
For  what  would  life  be  worth 

Were  love  not  here  ? 
Then,  surely,  boys  achree, 
You'll  take  a  flight  with  me 
To  that  land  beyond  the  sea-— 

Old  Banva  dear. 


69 


'Tis  sweet  to  sing  the  lays 

Of  Erin's  golden  days, 

Her  beauteous  scenes  to  praise 

With  f^aw  galore  ; 
And  pleased  am  I  to  tell 
Of  each  fairy-haunted  dell  — 
The  spots  I  loved  so  well 

In  days  of  yore. 

To  Inny's  laughing  tide 
My  heart  doth  open  wide, 
With  a  touch  of  native  pride 

So  sweet  to  feel. 
Ah,  sunlight  of  my  eyes  ! 
To  thee  affection  flies ; 
My  love  I'll  ne'er  disguise 

For  Gran na- Weal. 


"»*i«*-^»««ii«Afe. 


70 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 

There's  a  place  called  Niall's  Mound, 
Near  Tullagbmore  'tis  found, 
'Tisa  spot  of  holy  ground 

You  may  have  seen  ; 
Tiu'  Callan  flows  near  by, 
And  the  azure,  arching  sky 
Looks  down  with  kindly  eye 

Upon  the  scene. 


i  I 


\ 


'Tis  a  thousand  years  or  more 
Since  the  Danes  to  Erin's  shore 
Their  hated  banners  bore 

With  might  and  pride  ; 
'Tis  more  than  a  thousand  years 
Since  the  clang  of  Irish  spears 
Filled  their  craven  souls  with  fears 

They  fain  would  hide. 


Oh,  'twas  a  fateful  day, 
For  there,  in  grard  array, 
Impatient  for  the  fray, 

The  Iiish  stand  ; 
Whilst,  on  the  selfsame  plain, 
With  )u)astrul  shout  and  vain, 
Behold  the  ri)bber  Dane, 

With  fire  and  brand. 


WOODLAND  GAMBLES. 

No  golden  sun  arose 
To  greet  old  Erin's  foes, 
The  frowning  skies  disclose 

Their  angry  scorn ; 
A  dark  and  dismal  gloom 
Greeted  the  Ostman's  plume, 
As  he  marched  to  meet  his  doom 

On  that  dread  morn. 


71 


The  deadening  thunder's  peal, 
The  clanging  of  the  steel, 
The  shouts  of  woe  and  weal, 

All  fill  the  air; 
And  vivid  lightnings  flash. 
As  Gael  and  Ostman  clash, 
In  wild,  impetuous  crash. 

With  sabres  bare ; 


Whilst  above  all  is  seen 

The  O'Niairs  plume  of  green, 

A   he  rides  the  ranks  between, 

With  lusty  cheer. 
What  cares  he  for  his  life? 
His  Irish  spirit  rife 
For  war,  in  honor's  strife 

Knows  naught  c^(  ft:ar. 


w 


72 


I' 


WOODLAND  HAMBLSS, 

In  the  midst  of  battle's  van, 
Rallying  sept  and  clan, 
Ne'er  lived  a  braver  man 

Than  King  O'Niall ! 
He  of  a  hundred  fights, 
The  Danish  <  hieftain  smites, 
Cleaves,  for  old  F>in's  rights. 

Through  plates  of  steel. 


To  earth  f he  Ostmen  fall  — 

Chief,  and  vassal,  and  all. 

*'  We'll  brook  no  foreign  thrall," 

The  Irish  cry. 
Onward  they  cleave  their  way, 
(No  craven  soldiers  they). 
But  into  the  thickest  fray, 

To  win  or  die. 


And  foremost  of  all  is  he, 
O'Niall  the  great  and  free  — 
First  knight  of  chivalry. 

Bravest  of  brave. 
Afar  let  his  praises  ring; 
Loud  let  Ihc  minstrel  sing  ; 
He  was  indeed  a  king, 

E'en  to  his  grave. 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 

The  battle  fought  and  won, 
Out  gleamed  the  blushing  sun, 
As  if  'twould  say,  "  Well  done  ! 

The  right  prevailed." 
Erin  fought  not  in  vain 
Upon  that  fannous  plain, 
What  time  the  boastful  Dane 

Her  shores  assailed. 


73 


The  vanquished  hosts  had  fled  ; 
The  streams  with  blood  ran  red. 
Unnumbered  lay  the  dead 

Upon  the  field ; 
Whilst  proudly  one  might  view 
O'Niall  the  brave  and  true, 
Who  never  a  foeman  knew 

To  whom  to  yield. 


The  chiefs  of  Erin  ride 
Exultant  in  their  pride, 
But  Callan's  swollen  tide 

Bears  not  a  smile; 
Its  savage  waters  course 
With  wild,  impetuous  force. 
Ne'er  flowed  torrent  worse 

In  Banva's  isle. 


74 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


Up  spoke  a  chieftain  bold  : 
**  Shall  streamlet  make  us  hold, 
Who  Danish  arms  controlled 

In  battle's  tide?" 
And,  acting  to  the  word. 
His  noble  steed  he  spurred. 
And  plunged  into  the  ford, 

The  waves  to  ride. 


Iff 


Bravely  he  strove,  and  well. 
To  breast  the  surge  and  swell ; 
Fatigued,  at  length  he  fell 

Beneath  the  wave. 
Round  went  the  fatal  cry, 
*'  Alas  !  the  chief  must  die  !  " 
But  the  monarch  made  reply, 

"Nay,  I  will  save." 


i 


^  1' 


(  '  ! 


Then,  swifter  than  a  dream, 
He  plunges  in  the  stream, 
At  first  the  waters  seem 

Mere  drops  of  dew ; 
Amazed,  his  soldiers  stand 
Like  statues  on  the  land, 
He  grasps  the  chieftain's  hand 

Like  comrade  true. 


mm 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 

Tlie  king  was  strong  and  brave, 
And  nobly  fought  the  wave, 
Striving  the  youth  to  save, 

Alas,  in  vain  I 
For  though  he  well  withstood 
The  fury  of  the  flood. 
His  armor  was  not  wood  — 

The  waves  no  Dane. 


75 


Down  in  the  surging  tide 
Sank  ancient  Banva's  pride, 
Nobly  he  lived  and  died, 

Generous  and  free ; 
A  wail  rang  from  the  shore, 
' Twas  heard  the  country  o'er, 
**  Brave  Niall  is  no  more  ; 

Ochone  a  ree  !  ' ' 


His  soldiers  dug  a  grave 
Hard  by  that  fatal  wave, 
And  laid  the  king  so  brave 

In  silence  tlicre ; 
The  bards  of  Ulster  sing 
The  death  dirge  of  their  king, 
Sadly  they  touch  each  string, 

As  if  in  prayer. 


':.<f^\j:     'Vv^^i 


N 


il 


?! 


76 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 

No  "storied  urn  "  is  seen  ; 
No  tomb  of  gorgeous  mien  ; 
Simply  a  hillock  green 

To  mark  the  spot. 
There  to  this  day  'tis  found, 
And  they  call  it  "  Niall's  Mound," 
Oh,  but  'tis  holy  ground. 

Disturb  it  not ! 


Now,  lads,  you've  heard  my  tale 
Of  dear  old  Innisfail, 
And  the  valor  of  the  Gael 

Against  the  Dane ; 
So  fill  once  more  the  cup, 
And  we'll  drain  it  every  drop, 
Thus  be  our  parting  sup, 

Shin  fane  I  Shin  fane ! 


1 ' 

jj 

WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


77 


NORA  O'MALLEY. 


A   PASTORAL    POEM. 


CTHE  lives  in  a  valley  — 

*^     Sweet  Nora  O'Malley, 
Her  heart  is  as  light  as  her  visage  is  fair ; 

Since  first  I  looked  on  her 

My  heart  was  a  goner, 
For  no  maiden  I  know  could  with  Nora  compare. 


I  met  her  one  morning, 

A  flower  was  adorning 
The  rich  golden  tresses  that  flowed  to  her  waist ; 

And  her  eyes,  soft  and  tender, 

Were  glowing  with  splendor. 
And,  oh  !  her  sweet  lips  I  was  dying  to  taste. 


f  > 


Said  I,  **  Miss  O'Malley 

Would  you  kindly  dally 
A  niumcnt  and  list  lo  the  v()i<:e  of  my  soul? 

Said  she,  soft  aiul  gcntlo, 

'•  I'm  nut  si'uli mental, 
And  so,  if  you  please,  bir,  such  feelings  control." 


7« 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


But  love  is  a  vessel 

Accustomed  to  wrestle 
With  storms  that  arise  on  life's  varying  tide ; 

And  somehow  or  other, 

Myself  and  no  other 
Was  sitting  that  morning  sweet  Nora  beside. 


I  called  her  my  jewel, 

And  told  her  how  cruel 
'Twould  be  to  allow  such  true  love  to  be  lost ; 

I  begged  her  to  prove  me. 

And  naught  would  e'er  move  me, 
I'd  love  her  forever  whatever  the  cost. 


And  Heaven  beholding 

My  heart  thus  unfolding 
Its  deep-hidden  secret,  would  surely  approve, 

And  send  me  a  blessing. 

For  freely  confessing 
How  deep  and  sincerely  a  mortal  could  love. 

Then,  blushing,  she  started, 

(She's  so  noble  hearted), 
And  silent  she  gazed  o'er  the  wavering  grain  ; 

But  the  sweet  smile  upon  her 

Showed  plainly  I'd  won  her, 
And  so  my  heart's  pleading  was  not  made  in  vain. 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


79 


Ah,  treasure  of  sweetness ! 

Fond  fancy's  completeness ! 
Oh,  soul  of  affection,  how  greatly  I'm  blest ! 

To  think  that  kind  Heaven 

That  moment  had  given 
To  breathe  out  the  feelings  pent  up  in  my  breast. 

For  my  heart,  at  that  minute. 

Nay,  every  pulse  in  it, 
Throbbed  at  the  sound  of  her  beautiful  voice; 

Methought  'twere  a  pleasure 

Far,  far  beyond  measure, 
To  be,  and  forever,  her  heart's  dearest  choice. 


Oh,  fondest !  oh,  fairest ! 

Sweet  vision,  the  rarest 
These  orbs  ever  viewed,  when  I  call  thee  my  own 

My  bosom  will  render 

Allegiance  most  tender, 
I'll  set  thee  in  splendor  upon  my  heart's  throne. 


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80 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


TO  THE  MAYFLOWER. 

T^O  thee,  primordial  flower  of  Spring, 
My  heart's  devotion  fondly  turns ; 
And  though  in  humble  verse  I  sing, 
My  soul  with  loving  passion  burns. 

For  who  can  gaze  upon  thy  face, 
Sweet  emblem  of  my  native  land. 

And  fail  in  thy  soft  blush  to  trace 
The  greatness  of  the  Master  Hand  ? 

Who  can  thee  see  and  not  confess 

The  One  who  dwells  in  yonder  sphere, 

That  made  such  charming  loveliness 
To  dwell  in  silent  meekness  here? 

Oh  !  I  have  seen  full  many  a  flower, 
Blooming  afar  in  warmer  climes  — 

By  Ganges'  waves,  in  Persian  bower. 
But  fairer  thou  a  thousand  times  ! 

I  would  not  give  thy  maiden  blush 
For  all  the  charms  of  Earth  I've  seen  ; 

Fur  sun;^  of  sky-lark,  <:hant  of  thrush, 
I  would  not  cede  thcc,  woodland  queen. 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES, 

The  nightingale  may  court  his  rose ; 

And  France  may  boast  \\^t  fleur-de-lis ; 
But  they  can  never  e'en  disclose 

One-half  the  charms  that  ornate  thee. 

Nay,  let  the  golden  orange  glow 

On  a  sunlit,  southern  strand. 
For  I  a  dearer  treasure  know 

In  the  fair  Acadian  land. 


^1 


It  is  that  modest-blooming  flower  — 
Tribute  of  the  waking  Spring, 

That,  far  removed  from  garden  bower, 
In  local  fame  is  blossoming. 


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IMAGE  EVALUATION 
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WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


THE  DEPARTED. 


I 


CANNOT  think  her  dead, 
Who  all  so  kindly  shed 
About  my  path  the  only  bliss  I  know  — 
To  love  and  ever  deem 
That  happiness  supreme 
Dwells  never  in  this  home  of  ours  below. 


I  view  her  sitting  there 
Within  the  old  arm  chair  — 

My  mother ;  'and  I  watch  her  dozing  nod ; 
I  see  her  broken  gait, 
(Though  slow,  yet  never  late), 

As  on  she  moves  unto  the  "  House  of  God." 

I  see  at  times  her  smile. 

So  free  from  worldly  guile, 
As  when  some  act  of  mine  she  would  approve ; 

I  was  her  wayward  boy, 

And  yet,  for  all,  her  joy, 
For,  oh  !  she  loved  me  with  a  mother's  love. 


wmm 


■I*^ 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 

I  see  her  as  she  stood 
So  oft  in  pensive  mood, 

With  arms  serenely  folded  o'er  her  breast, 
Gazing  with  wistful  glance 
Far  into  Heaven's  expanse. 

As  'twere  to  get  a  glimpse  of  one  "  at  rest." 

Ah,  mother,  thou  art  gone ! 

But  yet  I  gaze  upon 
Thine  image  so  impressed  upon  my  heart ; 

And  still  methinks  I  hear 

That  voice  of  thine  so  dear. 
That  never  shall  from  out  my  soul  depart. 


83 


Nay,  mother,  thou'rt  away. 

As  mayhap  for  a  day, 
But  surely  as  the  evening  draweth  nigh. 

That  faith  which  makes  us  one 

Shall  bear  this  spirit  on 
Tc  dwell  with  thee  and  God  beyond  the  sky. 


Is 


84 


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W 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


THE  BROOK. 


/^FT  I  mind  me  of  a  scene 
^■^     Once  I  saw,  oh  !  years  ago ; 
It  was  a  dreamy  dell,  the  sheen 

Of  Phoebus,  in  his  dying  glow, 
Shed  'round  a  holy  influence 
That  seemed  to  magnetize  each  sense. 

It  was  a  mellow  eve  in  June, 
And  the  balmy  atmosphere 

Strove  to  set  the  heart  in  tune 
With  the  freshness  of  the  year ; 

And  a  mystic,  warm  delight 

Seemed  to  image  all  things  bright. 

I  sat  within  the  sylvan  shade. 

Watching  the  pearly  brooklet  flow. 

As  soft,  meandering  through  the  glade. 
In  mellow  cadence,  mild  and  low, 

Its  gurgling  waters  sang  a  song 

That  lives  with  me  my  whole  life  long. 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 

Maybe  it  was  my  angel's  voice 
That  in  those  waters  sweet  I  heard ; 

For,  truly,  oft  our  God  makes  choice 
Of  tongueless  things  to  speak  His  word. 

And  may  not,  too,  the  sighing  trees 

Reveal  deep-hidden  mysteries  ? 


85 


it, 


Mutely  as  the  stars  abide 

Within  the  distant  realms  of  space, 
And  all  so  solemn  as  they  glide, 

How  softly  o'er  the  soul  they  trace 
A  feeling  at  which  man  is  awed  — 
The  mystic  consciousness  of  God  ! 


So  was  it,  in  the  years  gone  by. 

That  brooklet  whispered  strange  to  me. 
And  oh  !  its  words  shall  ever  lie 

Deep-graven  on  my  memory  — 
A  mystic  message  sent  from  Him 
To  light  me  when  my  lamp  grows  dim. 


86 


1 1 


R  mv  '■ 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


THEN  AND  NOW. 

/^NCE,  when  the  sky  was  studded  o'er 
^^     With  silver,  starry  splendor, 
We  left  the  little  cottage  door 
To  ramble  by  the  pebbly  shore, 
And  whisper  accents  tender. 

Twittered  on  the  hawthorn  spray 

The  little  golden  linnet, 
Just  as  if  he  meant  to  say 
A  word  of  hope,  then  fly  away, 

All  within  a  minute. 

She  must  have  seen  it  in  the  wave. 
The  promise  that  she  made  me ; 

I  thought  'twould  last  unto  the  grave. 

How  vain  the  throb  my  bosom  gave  ! 
How  soon  my  love  betrayed  me ! 

Ah,  it  was  many  years  ago 

When  that  vow  was  spoken ; 
Oft  I  view  the  tide  waves  flow. 
Sparkling  'neath  the  moon's  pale  glow, 

But  the  vow  is  broken. 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 

And,  gazing  there,  I  ask  my  heart 

To  fathom  me  the  morrow ; 
To  read  me  from  life's  mystic  chart. 
Whether  our  pathn'ays  lie  apart, 
Or  unite  for  joy  or  sorrow. 

And,  at  times,  methinks  I  hear 

Something  like  an  answer. 
Bidding  me  be  of  good  cheer. 
But  dying  out  upon  the  air, 
Like  incense  from  a  censer. 


87 


88 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


TO  N.  M.  C. 


T^HY  brow  is  fair,  thy  tresses  bright, 
They  gleam  through  every  fold  ; 
Thy  ruby  lips,  and  eyes'  pure  light, 
Are  jewels  rare  as  gold. 


But,  oh  !  'Tis  not  thy  charms  of  face. 
Sweet  maid,  that  I  like  best ; 

'Tis  truth,  simplicity  and  grace 
That  shine  above  the  rest. 


IN  DOLLIE'S  ALBUM. 


T  F  I  were  sad,  or  sick  at  heart. 
Or  steeped  in  melancholy, 
No  power  could  make  my  gloom  depart. 
Like  thy  sweet  smile,  my  Dollie. 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


89 


FAREWELL. 


QH  !  leave  me  in  silence  awhile, 

For  those  who  have  sorrow  must  weep ; 
I  fain  would  have  borne  up  a  smile, 

But  'twas  more  than  my  spirit  could  keep. 
As  I  part  from  the  friends  that  I  love, 

And  take  leave  of  my  own  native  shore, 
A  tear  my  affection  shall  prove 

For  friends  I  may  look  on  no  more. 

They'll  think  of  me  oft  when  I'm  gone, 

When  the  sea  shall  be  rolling  between, 
Aud  hearts  that  are  now  cold  as  stone 

May  sigh  when  I  cannot  be  seen. 
They  will  sorrow  for  harsh  words  once  said, 

When  I  will  be  with  them  no  more. 
As  loved  ones  who  weep  for  the  dead, 

As  in  silence  they  pass  from  the  door. 


90 


WOODLA^fD  RAMBLES. 


TO  DORIS. 


h  il 


'T^ELL  me,  lovely  girl, 

From  what  orient  mine 
Came  each  golden  curl 

Circling  so  divine 
O'er  that  brow  of  pearl  — 

Sainted  brow  of  thine  ? 


Tell  me,  I  would  know, 
From  what  heavenly  place 

Came  that  angel  glow 
That  lingers  on  thy  face  ? 

Earth  could  ne'er  bestow 
Such  pure,  ethereal  grace. 


And  whence,  'neath  Heaven's  dome. 
Came  those  wondrous  eyes? 

Ah,  sure  their  native  home 
Must  be  in  Paradise  — 

Biest  angels  twain,  who  roam 
Forgetful  of  their  skies  ! 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 

Ah,  maiden,  do  not  start 
If  I  one  boon  should  seek, 

It  wells  up  from  my  heart, 
And,  oh  !  my  lips  must  speak  - 

May  I  one  kiss  impart 
Upon  that  rose-tipped  check  ? 


9« 


PARADOXICAL. 

g  Y  some  strange  inverse  law  my  existence  is  cursed, 

Or  mayhap  I  should  say  'tis  blessed, 
For  I  always  look  best  on  the  days  I  feel  worst, 
And  worst  on  the  days  I  feel  best. 


f 

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9* 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES, 


FRANZETTA'S  DREAM. 

T    AST  eve  I  was  seated  beyond  in  the  meadow, 
^■^    Where  Nature  smiles  in  her  bright  robes  of 

green, 
And,  as  the  gloaming  stole  into  the  shadow. 

My  spirit  was  wafted  away  from  the  scene ; 
Saw  I  a  land  all  bright  to  my  vision, 

Where  winter  comes  not  but  summer  alway, 
And  in  that  region,  where  all  seemed  Elysian, 

I  dreamed  I  was  crowning  the  Queen  of  the  May. 

Fair  was  her  face,  as  she  gazed  down  upon  me ; 

Sweet  was  her  voice  as  the  tones  of  a  lute ; 
Her  eyes  beamed  so  softly  their  loveliness  won  me 

To  gaze  on  in  rapture  all  silent  and  mute. 
Still  I  beheld  in  her  face,  full  of  sweetness, 

A  sadness  that  seemed  to  o'ershadow  my  own, 
Marring  the  vision  of  beauty's  completeness. 

Like  rain  clouds  that  shut  out  the  rays  of  the  sun. 

I  awoke  from  the  sweet  chain  of  sleep  that  had  bound 
me; 

The  vision  had  vanished  in  mystical  sheen ; 
The  sweet  little  birdlings  were  singing  around  me. 

As  if  to  remind  me  of  what  I  had  seen. 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 

So  'tis  in  life,  there  are  moments  revealing 
Scenes  we  have  gazed  on,  yet  cannot  recall  ; 

And  may  we  not,  in  such  day  dreams,  be  stealing 
A  glimpse  of  a  land  that  is  brighter  than  all  ? 


n 


LINES. 
y^LL  things  in  orbits  move-  the  sun,  the  moon, 
A!ic!  .11  the  bright  array  of  heavenly  spheres, 
And  time,  and  tides,  and  light,  ai,d  heat,  and  sound, 
And  the  great  mind  of  man —  it,  too,  revolves 
In  cycles  of  activity.     Nay,  life 
Itself  is  but  a  circle  like  the  sun. 
Thus  do  we  see  the  image  of  our  God 
Reflected  in  the  Universe,  as  things 
Partake  the  imprint  of  the  Maker's  touch. 
The  reflex  of  the  Mind  that  made  them  be— 
The  circle,  blest  symbol  of  eternity  I 


94 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES, 


THE  EVENING  HOUR. 


1 

1 

:!•! 


Il 


»npiS  not  in  the  morning's  golden  light, 

•*      Not  when  the  day  is  at  its  height, 
Nor  e'en  in  the  dreamy  afternoon, 
Albeit  in  the  month  of  June, 
That  loving  Nature  opes  her  arms 
And  yields  to  me  her  sweetest  charms, 
But  in  the  mellow  evening's  glow. 
When  Phoebus  sinks  in  the  wave  below, 
When  roses  fold  their  petals  up. 
And  the  wild  bee  sleeps  in  the  lily  cup, 
When  the  lotus  breathes  its  fond  farewell 
To  the  dying  Sun,  that  it  loves  so  well, 
This  is  the  time  I  prize  most  dear 
Of  all  the  hours  of  the  gladsome  year. 
I  love  to  steal,  at  the  close  of  day. 
Where  noise  and  tumult  hold  no  sway. 
To  some  lone,  mute,  sequestered  bower, 
And  while  away  the  passing  hour. 

I  love  to  view  the  Autumnal  Sun 
In  its  glory  of  gold,  when  the  day  is  done. 
And  the  dimly  light  of  the  crescent  Moon 
Steals  in  the  firmament  yet  too  soon. 


1 M 


WOODLAND  GAMBLES. 

I  love  the  silent  —  the  holy  calm 
That  soothes  my  soul  like  heivenly  balm ; 
'Tis  then  my  mind  may  look  within, 
'Way  from  the  world's  unceasing  din, 
And  feel  the  Omnipresent  Eye. 
Can  my  most  secret  thoughts  descry 
'Tis  then,  in  that  most  solemn  hour. 
My  soul  perceives  its  Maker's  power? 
So,  in  the  twilight  calm  and  blest, 
I  place  the  cross  upon  my  breast 
And  pledge  my  faith  in  warmest  vow, 
As  night  peeps  o'er  the  mountain's  brow. 


95 


96 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


LINES. 


I'    S  l•i^■ 


I    )'    'ft 


ri 


I 


A  WAY  with  that  bowl, 
"^^     The  curse  of  the  soul, 
No  rosy  red  wine  for  me ! 
But  go  bring  me  up 
The  brilliant  shell  cup 
That  is  found  in  the  deep  blue  sea. 

And  glad  will  I  sip, 

From  its  pearl-crowned  lip, 

That  beverage  precious  as  gold  — 
Water,  whose  gleam 
All  potent  doth  seem, 

That  drink  of  the  sages  of  old. 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES, 


97 


THE  CROWNING  OF  THE  MAY  QUEEN. 

^LADLY  now  our  queen  surrounding, 
Here  we  crown  her  Queen  of  May, 
And  with  peace  and  mirth  abounding 
Usher  in  the  festive  day. 
Gaily  tripping, 
Lightly  skipping, 
Here  dull  care  shall  ne'er  be  seen  ; 
Every  maiden 
Hap'ly  laden 
Bright  with  flowers  to  deck  the  queen. 

Open  now  our  hearts  with  pleasure. 

Let  us  trample  sorrow  down. 
Lightly  tripping  to  each  measure, 

While  our  queen  we  gaily  crown  ; 

Hearts  revealing 

Kindly  feeling, 
Let  no  anger  mar  the  scene  ! 

We'M  endeavor. 

Now  and  ever. 
To  be  faithful  to  our  queen. 


a^Mih 


98  WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 

See,  each  face  with  pleasure  beaming 

Only  mirrors  out  the  soul ; 
All  our  hearts  are  over-teeming 
With  a  love  we  can't  control. 

Every  minute 

Has  joy  in  it, 
And  no  care  its  face  can  screen  ; 

Thus,  with  flowers 

From  bright  bowers. 
Come  we  here  to  crown  our  queen. 


WOODLAND  /GAMBLES. 


99 


LINES. 


A  ^^'^'^^^^  ^'^^  at  my  window  flutters, 

And  carols  soft  some  melody 
And  every  note  its  sweet  throat  utters 

Fills  my  soul  with  ecstasy; 
It  seems  as  ii  it  knew  how  dreary 

Everything  to  me  appears, 
So  it  bears  me  back  the  music 

Once  I  heard  in  former  years. 

There  comes  to  me  a  fleeting  vision  — 

A  dream  of  one  I  used  to  know, 
One  who  made  my  life  Elysian 

In  the  happy  long  ago. 
And  my  heart  keeps  ever  throbbing 

To  the  echo  of  that  strain 
That  the  little  bird  is  singing 

Just  before  my  window  pane. 

My  love  was  fair  and  beautiful, 

As  any  flower  within  the  dell, 
And  her  voice,  with  sweetness  full, 

Resounded  like  a  golden  bell. 


lOO 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


% 

■  '■,!■  le 


Ir 


II  M 
-■>■  -i' 


Who  can  blame  me  if  I  love  her  ? 

Is  her  beauty  not  a  part 
Of  that  Heaven  that  bends  above  her, 

Object  of  a  Christian's  heart  ? 

Go  then,  bird,  and  tell  that  maiden, 

Dwelling  far  o'er  vale  and  hill. 
That,  though  sad  and  heavy  laden 

Be  my  heart,  I  love  her  still. 
And  were  my  feet  as  swift  as  thinking, 

Over  mount  and  vale  I'd  rove, 
'Till  my  heart  rejoiced  at  gazing 

On  the  face  of  her  I  love. 


I'i 
1 11 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES, 


lOI 


EPITAPH. 


"JpHERE  lies  at  rest 

In  this  lonely  spot, 
Where  blooms  the  blest 
Forget-me-not, 

A  mortal  flower, 
That  passed  away 

In  childhood's  hour 
To  this  cold  clay. 

But  far  from  this, 

In  Beulah's  land. 
The  angels  kiss 

A  saintly  hand, 

Unseen  to-night 

By  mortal  eyes, 
But  still  more  bright 

Within  the  skies. 


Though  she  may  rest 
In  muteness  here. 

Her  soul  is  blessed 
In  a  higher  sphere. 


msA 


BBBUI 


102 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 

Let  zephyrs  sigh 

O'er  her  dreamless  sleep, 
While  stars  on  high 

Pale  vigils  keep. 


,J:^ 


TO  ZEA. 

'T^IS  pleasant,  after  years  of  toil. 

Midst  strangers  dwelling  far  away, 
To  roam  back  to  one's  native  soil, 
And  muse  where  once  we  loved  to  play. 

But  pleasanter,  when  lingering  there. 
To  meet  some  friend  we  used  to  know. 

Whose  eyes,  unchanged  by  time,  still  wear 
The  kindly  smile  of  long  ago. 

Ah,  Zea,  thus  I  felt  my  heart 

Grow  sweetly  warm  on  seeing  thee ; 

And  my  desire  is,  when  we  part. 
To  bear  that  feeling  off  with  me. 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES, 


103 


NIGHT-FALL. 


CILENT  the  air  around, 

Evening  shades  fall 
Slow  and  without  a  sound, 
Soft  over  all. 

Now  fades  each  golden  beam 

Of  jocund  day, 
Like  a  sweet  morning  dream 

Stealing  away. 

'Tis  at  this  hour,  when  night 
Glides  o'er  the  skies, 

Mem'ry  recalls  the  light 
Of  thy  fond  eyes. 

Gone,  oh  so  long  ago  I 

Yea,  and  so  far  ! 
Beyond  the  last  fading  glow 

Of  planet  or  star. 

Leaving  my  breast  a  waste. 

Dreary  and  dark. 
Save  for  the  joy  I  taste 

In  memory's  spark. 


104 


WOODLAND  GAMBLES. 


Yet  like  the  stars  that  beam 
Bright  o'er  the  sea, 

Thine  eyes  will  ever  gleam 
In  Heaven  for  me. 


J  fit  I 


TO  ZAIDEE. 


"X^HEN  I  no  more  am  near, 
When  I  have  said  adieu. 
Remember,  maiden  fair ! 
That  I  am  always  true. 

Thus,  when  sea  and  land 
Shall  coldly  us  two  part. 

If  you  have  not  my  hand, 
You  have,  at  least,  my  heart. 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES, 


los 


HORAS  NON  NUMERO  NISI  SERENAS. 

MOTTO   OF   A   SUN-DIAL. 

«  J  NOTE  no  hours  but  those  that  fly 
Beneath  the  radiant  sunlit  sky ;  " 
Thus  spake  the  sun-dial,  thus  speak  I.' 

Unnumbered  be  the  hours  of  gloom  ! 
Deep  let  them  rest  in  Oblivion's  tomb, 
As  if  they  ne'er  had  left  Time's  womb. 

God  is  light,  and  before  His  throne 
There  is  heard  nor  tear,  nor  moan  ; 
Purity  dwells  in  light  alone. 

Truth  and  innocence  — all  things  bright  — 
Live  in  the  smile  of  a  holy  light; 
Demons  dwell  in  eternal  night. 

Let  one's  life  be  continuous  day  ; 
Seek  but  the  pure  unsullied  ray ; 
Darkness  tends  to  death  alway. 

The  purest  air  rests  not  below, 
But  seeks  the  sun's  perennial  glow ; 
Heaven  is  light  in  perpetual  flow.  ' 


io6 


WOODLAND  H AMBLES. 


I  fl 


'I 


From  the  soul  of  man  made  pure  and  bright, 
To  the  Seraphs  in  radiant  beams  bedite, 
To  God,  the  infinite  essence  of  light. 

Faith,  like  a  star,  shines  bright  above, 
Under  the  light  of  the  Holy  Dove; 
Faith  in  the  heart  is  the  torch  of  love. 

Hope  for  aye  in  thy  bosom  keep, 

*Tis  an  anchor  on  Life's  uncertain  deep; 

Let  shadows  of  doubt  forever  sleep. 

Charity  dost  know  its  worth? 
Greater  than  all  the  things  of  Earth, 
Heaven  alone  can  give  it  birth. 

Would'st  thou  peace,  let  thy  lifetime  be 
Bright  through  Faith,  Hope  and  Charity ! 
Only  weeds  grow  in  a  darksome  sea. 

The  one  great  law  of  the  Old  and  New  — 
Seek  only  the  bright,  the  pure,  the  true ! 
That  is  best  for  the  soul  to  do. 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


107 


TO  THE  EVENING  STAR. 

T^HOU,  O  bright,  mysterious  star, 

Wandering  soft  in  Heaven  ! 
Tenant  of  the  fields  afar, 
Where  the  saints  and  angels  are, 
Sweet  lone  Star  of  Even  ! 

When  to-night  thou  roamest  near 

Where  my  love  lies  sleeping, 
Gaze  for  me  with  tenderest  care. 
And  with  soft  enchantment  bear 
My  image  for  her  keeping. 


H 


io8 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES, 


'f  ... 

■C  ■■IS; 


A  THOUGHT. 

'W'OU  have  seen  the  river  flow, 
^      And  marked  the  golden  glow 

Of  sunset  on  its  waves ; 
And  mayhap  watched  at  night, 
Beneath  the  pale  moon's  light, 

The  dew  that  covers  graves. 

Yet,  though  these  both  may  be 
Familiar  sights  to  see. 

Beneath  them  still  there  lies. 
Hidden  far  from  view, 
A  lesson,  friend,  which  you 

Might  deem  it  well  to  prize. 

It  is  that  though  the  wave 
A  tranquil  smile  may  have, 

There  rolls  on  underneath, 
Down  in  its  unsunned  breast 
The  murmur  and  unrest 

That  speak  the  frown  of  death. 

And  may  it  not  be  true 
That  yonder  silent  dew. 

That  falls  upon  the  sod, 
Is  the  tears  by  angels  shed 
Upon  the  silent  dead. 

For  sins  against  their  God  ? 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


109 


TO  DAPHNE. 

^^UT  of  the  bower  of  thy  heart,  dear, 

Pluck  me  a  flower  of  thy  love, 
And  I  will  deem  it  a  part,  dear. 
Of  that  Heaven  that  smiles  above. 

For  love  is  born  of  the  skies,  dear, 
And,  though  you  may  think  it  odd, 

The  more  we  distribute  the  prize,  dear. 
The  nearer  we  come  to  God. 

For  love  is  unlike  Earth's  dross,  dear, 
The  more  it  is  scattered  'round. 

The  less  do  we  feel  its  loss,  dear. 
And  the  more  in  the  heart  is  found. 


Then  give  me  out  of  thy  breast,  dear. 

Only  love's  tiniest  flowei. 
And  I  will  think  I  am  blest,  dear. 

For  the  rest  of  life's  autumn  hour. 


no 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


TO  AIMfeE. 

"I XTHEN  the  first  buds  of  springtime, 

'  ^       All  fresh  with  the  dew, 
In  the  calm,  silent  forest 

Break  softly  to  view ; 
Or,  when  sadly  in  Autumn 

The  leaflets  decay. 
Bespeaks  in  mute  language 

How  Time  steals  away ; 

Oh !  wilt  thou  remember 

That  friend  of  thy  youth, 
Who  pledged,  'neath  those  branches. 

His  soul's  sweetest  truth  ? 
Wilt  think  of  him,  dearest. 

When  no  mortal  is  nigh, 
And  give  for  the  absent 

Thy  heart's  deepest  sigh  ? 


■■a 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES, 


III 


IN  MEMORIAM 

ELEANOR   CLARE   LANIGAN. 

r^  ENTLY  tread  and  slow, 
^^     Softly  speak  and  low, 

Draw  in  silence  'round  her  ; 
She  was  young  and  fair, 
Bright,  with  golden  hair. 

Ere  Death's  chain  had  bound  her. 


She  was  good  and  true ; 

One  of  the  saintly  few 
Whose  love  we  cannot  measure. 

Whose  lips  with  every  kiss 

Scattered  a  heaven  of  bliss, 
Whose  every  smile  was  a  treasure. 

Those  who  knew  her  well  — 

Only  they  can  tell 
Her  soul-inspiring  sweetness, 

The  brightness  of  those  eyes 

That  now  beyond  the  skies 
Are  gazing  at  God's  greatness. 


35^ 


112 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


Sleep,  child,  in  silence  there ! 

Perhaps  in  another  sphere 
Thy  soft  arms  shall  caress  us  ; 

And  in  the  halls  above, 

Those  lips,  so  full  of  love. 
Shall  pray  to  God  to  bless  us, 


THE  FADED  FLOWER. 


A  SOUVENIR. 


nPHOU  seemest  as  sweet  as  a  dream,  love. 
That  an  angel  once  told  me  in  sleep ; 
And  dearer  to  me  than  thou* It  deem,  love. 

Is  this  flower  that  thou  gavest  me  to  keep. 
I  will  treasure  it  near  to  my  heart,  love, 

Though  it  may  be  withered  and  dead. 
Oh !  never  from  me  to  depart,  love, 

'Till  the  green  sod  shall  cover  my  head. 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


"3 


ALEA  EST  JACTA. 

r^  O,  maiden,  wed  some  stranger, 
^"^     And  think  no  more  of  me, 
God  shield  thee  from  all  danger, 

And  make  thee  happy  be ; 
And  heed  not  if  I  sorrow, 

I  would  not  have  thee  grieve, 
For  I  can  always  borrow 

A  smile  while  e'er  I  live. 

As  on  thy  cheek  reposes 

A  blush,  whilst  I  seem  worn. 
So  may'st  thou  wear  life's  roses. 

And  I  will  bear  the  thorn  ; 
And  no  sigh  shall  betoken 

How  dear  the  past  to  me, 
Nev^r  a  word  be  spoken 

Of  how  I  cared  for  thee. 

In  other  climes  and  places 

I  know  full  many  a  heart 
Where  I  have  left  fond  traces 

That  will  not  soon  depart ; 
And  there  with  these  hereafter 

I'll  spend  this  life  of  mine, 
Midst  merry  songs  and  laughter. 

And  flowing  cups  of  wine. 


iSBHi 


114 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


AN  ACROSTIC. 


m 


ii>i 


i'V 


WILLETTA   E.    MERRIAM. 

"I  yl  7  E  met ;  the  evening  sunset  cast 
^         Its  golden  splendor  o'er  the  west, 
Like  dying  heroes,  who  have  passed 

Lives  in  bliss,  then  sink  to  rest ; 
Each  hill  was  wrapt  in  glory  then ; 

The  vales  in  silent  gloaming  lay ; 
Thus  youth  may  light  the  brows  of  men, 

And  still  their  hearts  be  growing  gray. 

Even  the  rose  must  have  its  thorn, 

'Mid  all  its  wild  luxuriance  cast; 
Even  the  babe,  though  newly  born, 

Receives  the  sin  of  centuries  past. 
Remember  then,  O  maiden  fair ! 

In  sunshine  there  are  shadows  too, 
And  when  thy  heart  receives  its  share, 

May  Heaven  grant  them  short  and  few ! 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


"S 


TO  EMELIA. 

■-* 

/^H,  my  beautiful  Milly, 
^^     Fair  art  thou  as  a  lily, 
Seldom  such  beauteous  grace 
Beams  in  a  mortal's  face, 
For  Italy's  bright  blue  skies 
Gleam  in  those  liquid  eyes, 
And  thy  ruby  lips  disclose 
All  the  sweetness  of  the  rose, 
Whilst  those  teeth  of  thine,  fair  girl, 
Have  the  lustre  of  the  pearl. 
But  thy  heart  is  cold  as  steel, 
And  glooms  like  the  old  Bastile. 


TO  A  FRIEND. 


C  HOULD  misfortune  e'er  befall  thee, 
*^     Should  the  tide  of  human  cares 
Sweep  across  thy  threshold,  leaving 
Naught  but  mingled  doubts  and  fears ; 

Turn  to  me  in  that  sad  moment. 
And  thou' It  find  me  just  as  true 

When  the  skies  of  life  gloom  darkest 
As  when  in  their  fairest  hue. 


Ii6 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


HUNTER'S  SONG. 


T  *M  a  hunter  gay, 

And  my  life  alway 
Is  to  roam  through  the  forest  free, 

And  let  dull  care 

Be  buried,  where 

Its  frown  I  shall  never  see. 


As  o'er  each  crag 

I  hunt  the  stag. 
My  spirit  is  light  and  gay ; 

For  I  love  the  wild  — 

The  undefiled. 
Grim  cliffs  where  the  chamois  stray. 


When  night  is  come 

I  seek  the  home 
Where  my  wife  and  children  dwell, 

And  they  gather  near 

With  anxious  ear 
To  hear  what  I  have  to  tell. 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 

For,  my  life  is  free 
As  the  wind  at  sea, 

And  with  trusty  gun  by  my  side, 
I  feel  as  gay 
As  a  child  at  play, 

And  as  joyful  as  a  bride  ! 


117 


I  fill  my  cup, 

And  take  my  sup, 
While  my  good  wife  lays  the  spread  ; 

And  I'm  happy  here 

As  prince  or  peer. 
And  feel  nor  fear  nor  dread. 

I'm  a  hunter  bold. 

Nor  heat  nor  cold 
Have  terrors  the  least  for  me ; 

Let  the  rich  of  Earth 

Go  boast  their  worth. 
My  heart,  my  heart  is  free  ! 


ii8 


WOODLAND  GAMBLES. 


EVENING  THOUGHTS. 

T^HE  dying  sunset  spreads  a  gloom 

O'er  valley,  lake  and  hill, 
And  flowers  that  with  the  daylight  bloom, 

At  eve  are  closed  and  still ; 
'Twas  thus  in  fame's  star-circled  hour 

Around  me  friends  were  thrown. 
But  now  that  skies  of  darkness  lower, 

Ah,  me,  my  friends  have  flown  ! 

How  sweet  the  hopes  of  youth  to  me ! 

How  dear  the  days  gone  by ! 
I  dream 'd  not  then  my  life  would  be 

An  echo  and  a  sigh ; 
But,  ah,  so  late,  it  comes  too  late  — 

The  smile  I  sought  of  yore, 
'Tis  but  a  rose  by  winds  of  fate 

Cast  on  life's  desert  shore. 


i'  • 


CI. 


TRANSLATIONS 


WOODLAND  GAMBLES. 


121 


LINES. 
[From  the  Latin  of  Boethius.] 

f~\  THOU,  who  guidest  each  great  and  mighty 

^^     sphere ; 

To  whom  the  ur>erse  and  man  adhere ; 

Who  with  one  single  word  made  all  things  be  — 

Earth,  ocean,  caves,  wind,  wood  and  stormy  sea ! 

On  gloomy  man,  O  !  Heavenly  Father,  deign 

To  shed  Thy  ray,  and  clear  his  cloudy  brain ; 

To  tranquilize  the  pious  heart  'h's  thine, 

And  cause  it  with  effulgence  pure  to  shine. 

To  Thee  we  fly,  O  God  1  thou  art  our  source. 

Beginning,  end,  life,  succor,  hope  and  course. 


EMPEROR  ADRIAN'S  ADDRESS  TO  HIS 

SOUL. 

[From  Catullus.] 

r^  ENTLE  little  wandering  thing, 
^-^     Long  this  body's  friend  and  guest. 
Whither  wilt  thou  now  take  wing  — 

Pale  and  cold,  and  all  undressed  ? 
Ah,  never  more,  as  was  thy  wont, 

Shalt  thou  bestow  the  jest ! 


123 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES, 


% 


ODE  X,  BOOK  IV. 
[From  Horace] 

A  H,  cruel,  yet  how  fair ! 

When  frigid  time  and  care 
Shall  thin  the  golden  hair 
Which  now  so  gently  flows 
About  thy  cheek,  that  glow  i 
Far  deeper  than  the  rose. 


In  that  sad  after  year 
Thou'lt  in  the  mirror  peer 
And  ask  why  bloom's  not  there, 
As  in  the  years  gone  by. 
When  lovers  fond  did  sigh  — 
But  age  will  tell  no  why. 


1    :i| 

»     ;  1 

oi 

S 

1   ''   ' 

1  ;;| 

1   ' 

w 

lil 

WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


"3 


ZARA  THE  BATHER. 

[From  the  French  of  Victor  Hugo.] 

^ARA,  gentle  roguish  elf, 
Swings  herself 

In  a  hammock  to  and  fro, 
Beside  a  crystal  fountain  pool. 
Calm  and  cool, 

Where  Elysian  waters  glow. 

And  the  frail,  uncertain  swing. 
Curious  thing. 

Is  mirrored  in  the  glassy  sheet 
With  its  gentb  tenant  fair, 
Who  leans  m  air 

To  view  her  precious  form  so  ne?t. 

Now,  Zara's  mind,  on  pleasure  bent, 
Is  well  content 

To  revel  in  her  welcome  play ; 
Gently  swaying  to  and  fro, 
Singing  low. 

In  blissful  dreams  the  live-long  day. 


kI 


mema 


124  WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 

"  Oh  !  would  I  were  a  captain's  bride, 
Or  sultan's  pride, 

I'd  bathe  in  amber  baths  I  ween  ; 
And  marble  basins  I  would  own. 
Besides  a  throne, 

Placed  two  golden  griffons  between." 


u 


■  I 

I 

'H'  1. 1 


ill 


■4, ' 


"  A  silken  hammock  would  be  mine, 
All  soft  and  fine, 

Beneath  my  weary  form  to  move ; 
And  I  would  have  a  cushion  bed. 
The  which  would  shed 

Odors  breathing  sweet  of  love." 

Thus,  building  castles  in  the  air 
Bright  and  clear, 

Swinging,  dreaming  wondrous  things. 
Rests  the  fair,  young,  laughing  maid 
In  the  shade, 

Heedless  that  the  day  has  wings. 


m 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


'25 


THE  LEAF. 


[From  the  French.] 

**  nPHOU,  torn  from  yonder  spray, 
•*■       Poor,  withered  leaflet,  say, 

Whither  dost  thou  go  ?  " 

"  Alas !  I  do  not  know ! 
The  storm  has  done  to  death. 
With  its  unkindly  breath, 

The  oak  —  my  only  stay. 
And  now,  alas !  I  find 
I'm  driven  by  every  wind. 

From  forest  o'er  the  plain. 

From  mountain  into  glen ; 
Whither  the  wind  may  blow, 
Thither  must  I,  too,  go, 

Fearlessly, 

Tearlessly, 
Nor  may  I  with  fate  quarrel ; 

I  go  where  goes 

The  leaf  of  the  rose. 
Where  goes  the  leaf  of  the  laurel." 


126 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


TO  A  YOUNG  GIRL. 
[From  the  French  of  Saint-Pavin.] 

T  KNOW  that  thou  art  young  and  fair, 

And  I,  alas  !  am  old  and  gray, 
But  ii;  r*  '  ^eart  is  budding,  dear, 

A  lov»        fresh  as  yesterday; 
And  you  may  know  'tis  young  as  yet, 

For  it  was  born  when  first  we  met. 


TO  MY  BED. 


[From  the  French  of  Benserade.] 


T^HEATRE  thou  of  smiles  and  sighs, 

O  Bed  !  where  one  is  born  and  dies ; 
Thou  showest  us  how  short  the  measure 
'Twixt  human  grief  and  human  pleasure. 


n 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


127 


THE  FLOWER. 


[From  the  French  of  Millcvoye.] 


pOOR  flower,  alone  and  dying, 

Once  the  valley's  pride, 
Now  all  so  coldly  lying, 
By  breezes  blown  aside  ! 


So  we,  a  like  fate  waiting, 
Bow  to  the  self-same  laws  — 

A  leaflet  quits  thy  bosom, 
A  joy  from  us  withdraws. 


And  man,  all  fancy  fleeing. 
Thoughtfully  asks  each  hour : 

Which  is  the  more  ephemeral. 
Life  or  yonder  flower  ? 


128 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


h 


LINES. 
[From  the  French  of  Racine.] 

\  A  7^ HAT  aid  can  God  from  fickle  man  derive? 
^  Combined,  in  vain  the  kings  of  Earth  all 

strive 
To  tear  away  His  bright,  imperial  throne  — 
One  glanc/:";  and  ail  their  schemes  are  overthrown. 
He  breathes  a  single  word,  and  straightway  must 
His  foes  dissolve  into  their  native  dust ; 
The  Heavens  await  in  awe  His  dread  command, 
And  oceans  tremble  to  their  very  sand. 
The  countless  spheres,  that  roll  in  wastes  of  blue. 
Dwindle  to  naught  before  His  searching  view; 
And  mortals,  mighty  as  they  seem  on  Earth, 
Are  in  His  eye  as  though  they  ne'er  had  birth. 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


129 


ive? 
irth  all 


own. 
lust 


>lue, 


REMEMBRANCE. 

[From  the  French  of  Bertault.] 

J  N  dreams  they  come  to  me  — 
Past  pleasures,  one  by  one, 
That  ne'er  can  come  again. 
Oh,  joys  that  give  such  pain  ! 
Would  that,  in  losing  ye, 

My  memory,  too,  had  gone  ! 
Alas  !  there  but  remains. 
Of  all  I  once  held  dear. 
That  one  sad  souvenir 
That  turns  all  thoughts  to  pains. 


130 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


O  CHARMING  STREAM. 


II 


[From  the  French.] 

/^  CHARMING  stream,  whose  limpid  water 
^-^     So  swiftly  glides  adown  yon  dale, 
How  much  I  love  the  mellow  murmur 

That  breathes  beneath  thine  azure  veil ! 
Upon  thy  banks  the  willow  stripling 

Inclines  to  kiss  thy  glassy  face, 
And  shade  thy  little  wavelets  rippling 

In  winding  course  and  ceaseless  race. 
'Twas  here  that  oft,  for  pleasure  roaming, 

Came  we  fond  children  to  thy  side, 
To  cull  the  flowers  that,  brightly  blooming. 

Wafted  their  odors  o'er  thy  tide. 


How  often,  too,  in  merry  childhood. 
Gazed  I  upon  thy  tranquil  breast, 

Or  strayed  beside  thee  in  the  wild  wood, 
To  catch  the  spring  bird  in  its  nest ; 

In  cruel  sport  I  seized  the  birdling 
That  warbled  in  thy  verdant  glade, 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 

Blending  its  music  with  the  gurgh'ng 
Of  thy  sweet  waters,  as  they  played, 

Till,  tired  at  last,  again  returning, 
I  sat  me  thy  green  banks  upon. 

And  bathed  my  temples,  warmly  burning. 
With  thy  cool  waters  flowing  on. 


131 


water 


Vainly  I  seek  amid  the  mountains 

Friends  that  I  loved  in  days  gone  by; 
Tell  me,  ye  mellow  groves  and  fountains. 

Where  are  they  gone  for  whom  I  sigh  ? 
Doubtless,  like  me,  they  too  have  tarried 

Long  on  ambition's  fretful  wave. 
Or  mayhap,  by  misfortune  worried, 

Ere  this  have  found  some  peaceful  grave. 
Oh,  charming  stream,  flow  on  as  ever  — 

Blest  in  the  murmur  of  thy  tide ! 
By  mortal  pride  allured  — ah  never, 

Where  God  has  placed  thee ^  there  abide. 


132 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


EPIGRAM. 


[From  the  French  of  Pierre  Patrice.] 


T  DREAMT  last  night  that  I  was  sick  and  died, 
■*'     And  with  a  begpjar  buried  side  by  side, 
But  pride  within  me  would  not  brook  the  place. 
And  thus  I  spoke,  as  one  of  nobler  race : 
**  Rascal,  begone  !  go  rot  thee  far  from  here. 
Approach  not  thou,  who  dost  no  title  bear !  " 
"Rascal?"  responded  he  in  raging  tone, 
"  Rascal  thyself !  go  rot  among  thine  own  ! 
Here  all  are  equal ;  as  I  owe  thee  nought, 
Each  is  the  lord  of  all  that  he  has  got." 


n 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


»33 


MORNING  HYMN. 

[From  the  French  of  I.amartine.] 

T^HE  birdlings  chirp,  the  lambkins  bleat, 
The  children  lisp  to  the  shepherd  gay, 
The  voice  of  man,  in  music  sweet. 

Combines  with  the  winds  and  waves  at  play. 
The  air  vibrates,  the  corn  is  stirred, 

The  insect  hums  his  song  to  the  sun, 
The  pious  hunter's  song  is  heard. 
Its  tuneful  echoes  like  a  bird 

Trilling  clear  and  far  away, 
In  tones  of  gracious  j)raise  to  One 

Who  gives  the  first  sweet  breath  of  day. 
All  view,  rejoice,  all  stir  amain. 

The  Aurora  gleams  in  the  cloud  above, 
'Tis  Earth  saluting,  with  joyous  strain. 

The  rising  star  of  life  and  love. 


iS9fe<J5*#.-^.^?A«-;s^-f*«« 


134 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


THE  LOST  HEART. 
[From  the  Italian.] 

/^NE  morning,  as  I  strayed  along  the  shore, 
^"^     I  lost  my  heart  and  I  was  sore  opprest ; 
The  sailors  that  I  asked  for  it,  all  swore 

They  saw  it  fluttering  in  thy  snowy  breast. 
I  beg  thee  to  return  my  heart  to  me. 

Thou  need'st  not  two,  but  I  must  needs  have  one; 

Stay,  I  will  tell  thee,  maid,  what  can  be  done : 
Give  me  thy  heart,  and  mine  can  rest  with  thee. 


% 

ill 


TO  A  SLEEPING  BEAUTY. 

[From  the  Italian.] 

^  WEET  eyes,  ye  mortal  stars  aglow  ! 
*^     To  me  fell  ministers  of  woe, 
That  in  your  sleep  such  power  display 
As  e'en  to  steal  my  soul  away. 
If,  closed,  ye  have  such  fatal  charm, 
When  open  who  can  check  your  harm  ? 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES, 


«35 


SONNET. 
[From  the  Italian  of  Metastasio.] 

PANCIES  and  dreams  I  fashion  at  my  will, 

But  yet  the  dreams  and  fancies  written  here, 
Though  told  in  verse,  have  caused  me  many  a  thrill, 
And  griefs  invented  force  the  real  tear. 

Mayhap  'tis  wisdom  breathing  through  the  vein 
Of  my  dear  art,  and  that  the  anxious  mind 

In  confirmation  bows  to  each  sad  strain. 

And  still  'twixt  love  and  grief  true  joy  doth  find. 

Though  all  my  songs  be  plucked  from  fancy's  wreath, 
And  all  my  hopes,  and  doubts,  and  fears  may  be 

Fictitious  too,  a  dreamer  still  I  breathe  ; 
And  life  is  but  a  brilliant  fairy  sea. 

O  God  !  When  is  the  hour  I  may  bequeath 
My  soul  to  Heaven's  own  veracity  ? 


[The  author,  Metastasio,  wrote  some  pathetic  verses  which 
so  affected  him  that  he  wept  over  them,  and  then  wrote  the 
above.] 


(?^.a«Sf:**»*;. 


136 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


LIKE  A  FLOWER. 

[From  the  German  of  Heine.] 

T    IKE  a  flower  thou  seemest, 

All  beautiful  and  blest, 
And,  while  I  gaze  upon  thee, 
A  sadness  fills  my  breast. 


I  yearn  to  kiss  thy  forehead, 
And  breathe  this  fervent  prayer 

That  God  would  ever  keep  thee 
Thus  good  and  pure  and  fair. 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


137 


THE  VOYAGE. 

[From  the  German  of  Heine.] 

T    EANING  1  Stand  beside  the  mast, 

And  count  each  wavelet  glowing  ; 
Farewell,  beloved  fatherland ! 
How  fast  my  ship  is  going  ! 

I  sail  before  my  loved  one's  house, 
The  window  panes  are  gleaming, 

I  strain  my  very  eyes  in  vain, 
No  light  for  me  is  beaming. 


Ye  tears,  stay  from  my  weary  eyes. 
Lest  sight  grow  dim  and  clouded  ! 

And  break  not  thou,  O  aching  heart. 
Though  grief  hath  thee  enshrouded  ! 


«38 


WOODLAND  RAMB.ES. 


DAME  NIGHTINGALE. 
[From  the  German.] 

XT  IGHTINGALE,  I  hear  thee  singir 
'*•         As  if  thy  heart  would  break  with  love, 
Quick  the  kindly  message  bringing  — 
Who  shall  my  affection  prove. 

Nightingale,  I  see  thee  flying, 

To  the  brook  thou  dost  incline, 
Oft  to  it  thy  beak  applying, 

As  it  were  the  sweetest  wine. 


Nightingale,  when  lonely  dwelling 
High  above  the  towering  limes, 

Soft  thy  mellow  anthems  telling. 
Greet  my  love  a  thousand  times. 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


139 


ELEGY. 

[From  the  German  of  Goethe.] 

'T^ELL  me,  ye  fabrics  of  departed  years ! 

Speak,  oh,  ye  towering  palaces  of  pride ! 
Speak  but  a  word  !     I  list  with  anxious  ears  — 

Genius  of  Rome,  dost  thou  not  here  abide? 
Yes,  all  is  blest  within  thy  holy  shrine. 
Eternal  Rome  !     But  quiet  bliss  is  mine. 
Who  whispers  ?    Tell  me,  where  did  I  behold 
That  lovely  form  that  charmed  my  breast  of  old 
With  her  sweet  smile  and  soul-inspiring  lovt? 

Well  do  I  mind  the  dear  old  sombre  way 
Where  oft,  through  many  a  dark  and  winding  grove, 

I  sought  her,  wasting  precious  time  away. 
Yet,  lo  !  I  gaze  on  churches,  ruins  and  towers, 
As  prudent  travellers  spend  the  passing  hours. 
But  yet  awhile  and  all  is  passed  and  done, 

And  there'll  be  but  one  temple  as  above  — 
Love's  temple  to  receive  the  Blessed  One. 

A  world  thou  art,  O  Rome,  but  without  love 
The  world  would  be  no  world,  nor  Rome  be  Rome. 


^■-^^■--""■'  —"tmrrr 


I40 


WOODLAND  GAMBLES. 


THE  KING  OF  THULE. 

[From  the  German  of  Goethe.] 

T  N  the  ancient  town  of  Thule 
There  lived  a  king  of  old, 
So  true,  his  dying  sweetheart 
Gave  him  a  cup  of  gold. 

Nothing  to  him  was  dearer 
Than  this  cup  in  after  years, 

And  so  often  as  he  used  it, 
His  eyes  filled  up  with  tears. 

When  death  drew  near  and  nearer, 
The  cities  he  had  gained 

To  his  heirs  all  he  bequeathed. 
But  the  beaker  he  retained. 


At  feast  within  his  castle, 
High  over  the  foamy  wave, 

The  king  sat,  and  around  him 
Were  counts  and  noble',  brave. 


•"] 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 

Raising  the  beaker  gently 
To  his  lips,  he  drank  his  last, 

Then,  hurling  it  headlong  downward, 
He  watched  it  falling  fast. 

Saw  the  waves  close  above  it, 
And  the  white  foam  rolling  o'er ; 

From  his  eyes  the  brightness  faded, 
And  he  drank,  ah  !  nevermore. 


141 


ti.WMl!B«|lii-«IU»wiWOT'W>n»»»aB» 


142 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


THE  FISHER  MAIDEN. 

[From  the  German  of  Heine.] 

"T^RAW  thy  boat  ashore,  fair  maiden, 
^^     Then  come  and  sit  by  me, 
And  I  will  talk  of  many  things,  dear, 
Yet  unknown  to  thee. 

Rest  thy  head  upon  my  bosom, 

Thou  need'st  have  no  fear  ; 
Dost  thou  not  o'er  wild  sea  venture 

Boldly  year  by  year  ? 


Like  a  sea,  then,  is  my  bosom. 
It  hath  its  calms  and  storms, 

While  deep  within  its  mystic  waters 
Lie  concealed  its  charms. 


WOODLAND  /GAMBLES. 


143 


MIGNON. 

[From  the  German  of  Goethe.] 

T/^NOWEST    thou  that  land  where    the    citron 

blooms  so  fair? 
Amid  the  d'lsky  leaves  the  gold-orange  scents  the  air, 
A  mild  and  soothing  breeze  floats  from  out  the  azure 

sky, 
The  myrtle  sweetly  blooms,  and  the  laurel  towers  on 

high, 
Dost  thou  know  it  well  ? 

Oh,  there,  oh,  gladly  there 
Would  I  could  fly  with  thee,  my  own  beloved  fair ! 

Knowest  thou  that  house  built  on  pillars  broad  and 

bold? 
The  hall  gleams  bright  below,  and  the  chambers 

shine  in  gold, 
And  statues  tall  and  pale  rear  their  forms  and  gaze 

at  me ; 
Tell  me,  thou  hapless  child,  what  have  they  done  to 

thee? 
Dost  thou  know  it  well  ? 

Then  there,  oh,  gladly  there 
Would  I  could  fly  with  thee,  my  sweet  protector 

dear ! 


MM 


144 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


Knowest   thou   the   path  o'er   the  lofty    mountain 

height  ? 
There  the  mule  his  way  plods  o'er  snowy  wastes 

at  night ; 
There,  in  caverns,  dwelt  of  old  the  dragons'  noble 

brood ; 
There,  over  crag  and  beatling  cliff,  thunders  the  giddy 

flood; 
Dost  thou  know  it  well  ? 

Oh,  there,  oh,  fondly  there 

Lies  our  long  journey  ;  oh.  Father,  hasten  there  1 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


145 


THE  DEATH  LOCK. 
[From  the  German.] 

"P  RE  close  the  dark  grave  o'er  thee, 
"*-^     Oh,  maid  beloved  and  fair  ! 
One  boon,  I  do  implore  thee  — 
Grant  me  this  lock  of  hair. 

From  locks  that  erst  did  cluster 

In  fondness  on  that  brow, 
Gone  is  its  whilom  lustre, 

Yet  thine,  how  brighter  now  ! 

That  which  was  fair  will  perish. 
And  'neath  the  tombstone  lie. 

But  this  lock  of  hair  will  cherish 
A  grace  that  will  not  die. 

And  feeble  as  thou  seemest, 

O  tress !  all  soft  and  fine, 
Thou  with  love's  burden  teemest, 

So  precious  —  so  divine  ! 


146  WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 

Then  share  thy  fond  caresses, 
Thou  ever  precious  thing, 

Come,  brightest  of  all  tresses, 
I'll  wear  thee  round  my  ring. 


And  when  that  jewel  turning. 
The  maid  whom  I  adore, 

With  love's  soft  passion  burning, 
Will  smile  on  me  once  more. 


■HHHH-S't" 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


147 


UNDER  THE  GREENWOOD. 

[jFrom  the  Irish.] 

tjrOW  well  for  the  birdlings 
'J'hat  fly  through  the  air, 
And  that  nestle  together, 

Devoid  of  all  care  ! 
Not  mine  is  such  pleasure, 

With  the  maid  of  my  heart, 
For  when  morning  is  breaking. 
We  are  far,  far  apart. 


She  is  fairer  than  the  lily ; 

She  is  finer  than  flowers  ; 
She  is  sweeter  than  music 

In  ivy-clad  bowers : 
But  better  by  far  is 

Her  soft,  gentle  way, 
So  may  God,  in  His  kindness, 

My  sadness  allay ! 


*''*******<«»«aW««»«!o«<»>>«»»<»ft»««»*^^ 


148 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


FOR  ERIN  I  CAN'T  TELL  HER  NAME. 


[From  the  Irish.] 


I 


i 


I 


T    AST  night  as  I  walked  all  alone, 
"*"^     Quite  late  near  the  bounds  of  Glisheen, 
There  approached  me  a  maid 
In  such  beauty  arrayed 
That  I  felt  'twas  some  vision  I'd  seen  ; 
So  comely  and  graceful  her  form, 

That  I  stepped  forth  her  favor  to  claim, 
But  she  seemed,  oh  !  so  mild, 
I  looked  on  her  and  smiled. 
And  for  Erin  I  can't  tell  her  name. 


And  as  I  looked  back  on  the  road. 
My  heart  fluttered  wildly  to  see 

This  maiden  so  fair ; 

You  might  search  everywhere, 
But  you'd  find  none  as  handsome  as  she. 
Her  hair  was  the  color  of  gold. 
And  'twas  fixed  with  a  comb  of  the  same, 

And  her  cheeks  were  as  red 

As  the  rose  in  its  bed. 
Yet  for  Erin  I  can't  tell  her  name. 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 

And  now,  wheresoever  I  roam, 
Her  image  doth  follow  me  there, 

And  strange  though  it  seem, 

Each  night  do  I  dream 
Of  her  beautiful  golden  hair. 
Not  a  mortal  I  know  but  were  blest. 
If  this  moment  her  love  he  could  claim. 

He  would  gladly  forsake 

All  friends  for  her  sake, 
Yet  for  Erin  I  can't  tell  her  name. 

Oh  !  maiden  so  beauteous  and  fair. 
If  only  thou'dst  deign  to  be  mine, 

Thee  I'd  freely  attend, 

Nay,  my  lifetime  I'd  spend 
To  blot  out  all  the  troubles  of  thine. 
I  would  kiss  thee  and  tell  thee  sweet  tales. 
And  thy  fame  I  would  proudly  proclaim. 

Yes,  I'd  place  a  bouquet 

In  thy  bosom  each  day. 
Yet  for  Erin  I  can't  tell  thy  name. 


M9 


'^^■''^"^'-^'--CM\-u-!fntimn* 


150 


WOODLAND  /GAMBLES. 


-i     5, 


STAR  OF  MY  PATH. 


A' 


[From  the  Irish.] 

H  !  would  I  were 
The  apple  there, 
Or  e'en  the  daisy  yonder, 
That  cpes  its  eyes 
In  glad  surprise. 
At  thy  sweet  charms  to  wonder  ! 


Nay,  maid  divine, 

I  would  not  pine 
To  quit  the  flowers  beside  me, 

And  bask  awhile 

Beneath  thy  smile. 
Or  in  thy  breast  to  hide  me. 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


«5« 


ANACREONTIC. 

[From  the  Irish.] 

T  'D  be  the  fruit  on  yonder  vine, 
-*•     That  bends  its  luscious  purple  tips 
To  tempt  that  liquid  eye  of  thine, 
And  melt  upon  thy  rosy  lips. 

Or,  I  would  be  some  favored  rose, 
By  thee  beloved,  by  thee  caressed, 

That  I  might  on  thy  breast  repose 

An  hour,  and  die  —  but  oh,  how  blest  ! 


Hi 


wmmmm. 


152 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES, 


LINES. 

[From  the  Spanish  of  Boscan.] 

T_J  OW  sweet,  when  after  a  stormy  day, 
"■•  "*■     The  evening  calm  steals  gently  o'er ! 

And  sweet,  when  from  the  night's  dark  shore, 
The  bright  sun  drives  all  shades  away  ! 
So  too,  indeed,  'tis  sweet  to  me 
When  Hope  leads  kindly  unto  thee. 


TO  A  MIRROR. 


[From  the  Spanish  of  Boscan.] 


OINCE  all  in  vain  my  songs  appear; 
*^     Since  music  fails  to  move  her, 
O  !  mirror,  show  that  favored  fair 

Why  still  my  heart  must  love  her. 
Send  back  the  beam  that  from  her  eye 

Sheds  forth  such  sweetness  tender, 
That,  like  Narcissus,  she  may  die 

Enamored  of  her  splendor. 


WOODLAND  RAMBLES. 


^n 


VENVOI. 

T  HA  VE  gathered  my  Jioivers, 
■^       I  have  twine li  my  wreath  y 
And  to  one  who  best  loves  me 
The  gift  I  bequeath. 


She  may  treasure  them  dearly, 

Or  cast  them  a7uay, 
They  are  all  I  can  leave  her  — 

My  love  and  my  lay. 


